i. 


A  WOMAN^- HATER 


':a  N0\)cL 


By   CHARLES    READE, 


AUTHOR   OF 


"HARD   CASH,"  "NEVER   TOO    LATE  TO   MEND,"     "FOUL   PLAY," 

"PUT   YOURSELF    IN    HIS   PLACE,"  "GRIFFITH   GAUNT," 

"A  SIMPLETON,"  "WHITE   LIES,"  &c.,  &c. 


HOUSEHOLD   EDITION. 


NEW    YORK: 
HARPER    &    BROTHERS,    PUBLISHERS, 

FRANKLIN     SQUARE. 
1877. 


CHARLES  READE'S  NOVELS. 


HARPER'S  HOUSEHOLD  EDITION. 
Illustrated.    12mo,   Cloth. 


A  Woman-Hater. 

Hard  Cash. 

Foul  Play. 

White  Lies. 

Love  Me  Little,  Love  Me  Long. 

Griffith  Gaunt. 

The  Cloister  and  the  Hearth. 


It  is  Never  Too  Late  to  Mend. 
Peg  Woffington, Christie  Johnstone,  &c. 
Put  Yourself  in  His  Place. 
A  Terrible  Temptation. 
A  Simpleton  and  The  Wandering  Heir. 
Good  Stories  of  Man  and  Other  Ani- 
mals.    (In  Press.) 


Thirteen  Vols.  $i  25  per  vol. 
HARPER'S  POPULAR  EDITION. 

8vo,   Paper. 


A  Woman-Hater.     75  cents. 

A  Hero  and  a  Martyr.  With  a  Por- 
trait.    15  cents. 

A  Simpleton.     50  cents. 

A  Terrible  Temptation.  Illustrations. 
50  cents. 

Foul  I'lay.     50  cents. 

Griffith  Gaunt.    Illustrations.    50  cents. 

Hard  Cash.     Illustrations.     75  cents. 

Love  Me  Little,  Love  Me  Long.  50 
cents. 


It  is  Never  Too  Late  to  Mend.  75  cents. 
Peg  Woffington,  Christie  Johnstone, and 
OtherTalas.  75 cents. 

Put  Yourself  in    His   Place.     Illustra- 
tions.    75  cents. 
The  Cloister  and  the  Hearth.    75  cents. 

The  Wandering  Heir.  Illustrations. 
35  cents. 

White  Lies.     50  cents. 

Good  Stories  of  Man  and  Other  Ani- 
mals.    (/?/  Press.) 


Published  by  HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  New  York. 

1^^  Harper  &  Brothers  ivill  send  either  of  the  above  volumes  by  mail,  post- 
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Cop>Tight,  1876,  by  Harper  &  Brothers. 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


CHAPTER  I. 

"  rjl  HE  Golden  Star,"  Hombnrg,  was 

1  a  humble  hotel,  not  used  by  gay 
gamblers,  but  by  modest  travelers. 

At  two  o'clock,  one  fine  day  in 
June,  there  were  two  strangers  in  the 
sal/e  a  vianger,  seated  at  small  tables 
a  long  way  apart,  and  wholly  absorbed 
in  their  own  business. 

One  was  a  lady  about  twenty-four 
years  old,  who,  in  the  present  repose 
of  her  features,  looked  comely,  sedate, 
and  womanly,  but  not  the  remarkable 
person  she  really  was.  Her  forehead 
high  and  white,  but  a  little  broader 
than  sculptors  affect ;  her  long  hair, 
coiled  tight,  in  a  great  many  smooth 
snakes,  upon  her  snowy  nai)e,  was  al- 
most flaxen,  yet  her  eyebrows  and  long 
lashes  not  pale  but  a  reddish  brown  ; 
her  gray  eyes  large  and  profound ; 
her  mouth  rather  large,  beautifully 
shaped,  amiable,  and  expressive,  but 
full  of  resolution  ;  her  chin  a  little 
broad;  her  neck  and  hands  admirably 
white  and  polished.  She  was  an  An- 
glo-Dane— her  father  English. 

If  you  ask  me  what  she  was  doing, 
why — hunting  ;  and  had  been,  for  some 
days,  in  all  the  inns  of  Homburg. 
She  had  the  visitors'  book,  and  was 
going  through  the  names  of  the  whole 
year,  and  studying  each  to  see  wheth- 
er it  looked  real  or  assumed.  Inter- 
spersed were  fli|)pant  comments,  and 
verses  adapted  to  draw  a  smile  of 
amusement  or  contempt  ;  but  this 
hunter  ])assed  ihcih  all  over  as  nulli- 


ties :  the  steady  pose  of  her  head,  the 
glint  of  her  deep  eye,  and  the  set  of 
her  fine  lips  showed  a  soul  not  to  be 
diverted  from  its  object. 

The  traveler  at  her  back  had  a  map 
of  tlie  district  and  blank  telegrams, 
one  of  which  he  filled  in  every  now 
and  then,  and  scribbled  a  hasty  letter 
to  the  same  address.  He  was  a  sharp- 
faced  midde-aged  man  of  business; 
Joseph  Ashmead,  operatic  and  theat- 
rical agent — at  his  wits'  end  ;  a  female 
singer  at  the  Homburg  Opera  had  fall- 
en really  ill ;  he  was  commissioned  to 
replace  her,  and  had  only  thirty  hours 
to  do  it  in.  So  he  was  hunting  a  sing- 
er. What  the  lady  was  hunting  can 
never  be  known,  unless  she  should 
choose  to  reveal  it. 

Karl,  the  waiter,  felt  bound  to  rouse 
these  abstracted  guests,  and  stimulate 
tlieir  ai)petites.  He  affected,  there- 
fore, to  look  on  them  as  people  who 
had  not  yet  breakfasted,  and  tripped 
up  to  Mr.  Ashmead  with  a  bill  of  fare, 
rather  scanty. 

The  busiest  Englishman  can  eat, 
and  Ashmead  had  no  objection  to 
snatch  a  mouthful ;  he  gave  his  order 
in  German  with  an  English  accent. 
But  the  lady,  when  appealed  to,  said 
softlv,  in  pure  German,  "  I  will  wait 
for  the  tnhk-d'/iute." 

"  The  table-d'hute  !  It  wants  four 
hours  to  that." 

The  lady  looked  Karl  full  in  the 
face,  and  said,  slowly,  and  very  dis- 
tinctly," Then,  I — will — wait — four — 
hours." 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


These  simple  words,  articniiited  fii  in- 
ly, and  in  a  contialto  voiie  of  sinynlar 
volume  and  sweetness,  sent  Karl  skip- 
ping ;  but  their  ert'ect  on  Mr.  Aslnnead 
was  more  remarkable  :  he  started  up 
from  his  chair  with  an  exclamation, 
and  bent  his  eyes  eagerly  on  the  me- 
lodious speaker.  He  could  oidy  see 
her  back  hair  and  her  figure  ;  but,  ap- 
parently, this  quick-eared  gentleman 
had  also  quick  eyes,  for  lie  said  aloud, 
in  English,  "Her  hair,  too — it  must 
be;"  and  he  came  hurriedly  toward 
her.  She  caught  a  word  or  two,  and 
turned  and  saw  him.  "Ah!"  said 
she,  and  rose  ;  but  the  points  of  her  lin- 
gers still  rested  on  the  bouk. 

"ltis!"cried  Ashmead.     "It  is!" 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Ashmead,"  said  the  lady, 
coloring  a  little,  but  in  ])iire  English, 
and  with  a  composure  not  easily  dis- 
turbed ;  "  it  is  Ina  Kiosk ing." 

"  What  a  pleasure,  "cried  Ashmead  ; 
"and  what  a  surprise  !  Ah,  madam, 
I  never  hoped  to  see  you  again. 
When  I  heard  you  had  left  the  Mu- 
nich Opera  so  sudden,  I  said,  '  There 
goes  one  more  bright  star  quenched  for- 
ever. '  And  you  to  desert  us — you,  the 
risingest  singer  in  Germany  !" 

"Mr.  Ashmead!" 

"  You  can't  deny  it.  You  know 
you  were." 

'J'he  lady,  thus  made  her  own  judge, 
seemed  to  reflect  a  moment,  and  said, 
"I  was  a  well-grounded  musician, 
thanks  to  my  parents  ;  1  was  a  very 
hard-working  singer ;  and  I  had  the 
advantage  of  being  supported,  in  my 
early  career,  by  a  gentleman  of  judg- 
ment and  sjjirit,  who  was  a  manager 
at  first,  and  brought  me  forward,  aft- 
erward a  popular  agent,  and  talked 
managers  into  a  good  opinion  of  me." 

"Ah,  madam,"  said  Ashmead,  ten- 
derly, "  it  is  a  great  pleasure  to  hear 
this  from  you,  and  spoken  with  that 
mellow  voice  which  would  charm  a 
rattlesnake  ;  but  what  would  my  zeal 
and  devotion  have  availed  if  you  had 
not  been  a  born  singer  ?" 

'"Why  —  yes,"  said  Ina,  thought- 
fully; "I   was   a  singer."     But   she 


seemed  to  say  this  not  as  a  thing  to  be 
jjroiid  of,  but  only  because  it  happened 
to  be  true  ;  and,  indeed,  it  was  a  pe- 
culiarity of  this  woman  that  site  ap- 
peared neatly  always  to  ihiiik — if  but 
for  half  a  moment — before  she  spoke, 
and  to  say  tilings,  whether  about  her- 
self or  otiiers.  only  because  they  were 
the  truth.  The  reader  who  shall  con- 
descend to  bear  this  in  mind  will  pos- 
sess some  little  clue  to  the  color  and  ef- 
fect of  her  words  as  spoken.  Often, 
where  they  seem  simple  and  common- 
])Iace — on  paper,  they  were  weighty  by 
their  extraordinary  air  of  truthfulness, 
as  well  as  by  the  deep  music  of  her 
mellow,  bell-like  voice. 

"  Oil,  you  do  admit  that,"  said  Mr. 
Ashmead,  with  a  chuckle;  "then  why 
jump  off  the  ladder  so  near  the  top? 
Oh,  of  course  I  know — the  old  story — 
but  you  might  give  twenty-two  hours 
to  love,  and  still  spare  a  couple  to  mu- 
sic." 

"That  seems  a  reasonable  division," 
said  Ina,  naively.  "  But  "  (apologet- 
ically) "  he  was  jealous." 

"Jealous! — more  shame  for  him. 
I'm  sure  no  lady  in  public  life  was 
ever  more  discreet." 

"No,  no;  he  was  only  jealous  of 
the  public." 

"And  what  had  the  poor  public 
done  ?" 

"  Absorbed  me,"  he  said. 

"Why,  he  could  take  you  to  the 
opera,  and  take  you  home  from  the 
opera,  and,  during  the  opera,  he  could 
make  one  of  tlie  public,  and  apjilatid 
you  as  loud  as  the  best." 

"Yes,  but  rehearsals! — and — em- 
bracing the  tenor." 

"  Well,  but  only  on  the  stage  ?" 

"Oh,  Mr.  Ashmead,  \\1iere  else  does 
one  emlirace  the  tenor  ?" 

"  And  was  that  a  grievance  ?  Why, 
I'd  embrace  fifty  tenors — if  I  was  paid 
proportionable." 

"  Yes  ;  but  he  said  I  embraced  one 
poor  stick,  with  a  fervor — an  aban- 
don—  Well,  I  dare  .say  I  did;  for.  if 
they  had  put  a  gate-post  in  the  middle 
of  the  stage,  and  it  was  in  my  jiart  to 


A  WOMAN-HA'J'KK. 


embrace  the  thing,  I  should  liave  done 
it  honestl}-,  for  love  of  my  art,  and  not 
of  a  post.  Tlie  next  time  I  had  to 
embrace  the  poor  stick,  it  was  all  I 
could  do  not  to  pinch  him  savagely." 

"And  turn  him  to  a  counter-tenor 
— make  him  squeak." 

Ina  Klosking  smiled  for  the  first 
time.  Ashmead,  too,  chuckled  at  his 
own  wit,  but  turned  suddenly  grave  the 
next  moment,  and  moralized.  He 
pronounced  it  desirable,  for  the  inter- 
ests of  mankind,  that  a  great  and  ris- 
ing singer  should  not  love  out  of  the 
business  ;  outsiders  were  wrong-liead- 
ed  and  absurd,  and  did  not  understand 
the  true  artist.  However,  having  dis- 
coursed for  some  time  in  this  strain, 
he  began  to  fear  it  might  be  unpala- 
table to  her;  so  he  stopped  abruptly, 
and  said,  "But  there — what  is  done 
is  done.  We  must  make  the  best  of 
it;  and  you  mustn't  think  I  meant  to 
run  him  down.  He  loves  you,  in  his 
way.  He  must  be  a  noble  fellow,  or 
lie  never  could  have  won  sucii  a  iieart 
as  yours.  He  won't  be  jealous  of  an 
old  fellow  like  me,  though  I  love  you, 
too,  in  my  humdrum  way,  and  always 
did.  You  must  do  me  the  honor  to 
present  me  to  him  at  once." 

Ina  stared  at  him,  but  said  noth- 
ing. 

"Oh,"  continued  Ashmead,  "I 
shall  be  busy  till  evening;  but  I  will 
ask  him  and  you  to  dine  with  me  at 
the  Kursaal,  and  tiien  adjourn  to  the 
Royal  Box.  You  are  a  queen  of 
song,  and  that  is  where  you  and  he 
shall  sit.  and  nowhere  else." 

Ina  Klosking  was  clianging  color  all 
this  time,  and  cast  a  grateful  but  trou- 
bled look  on  him.  "  My  kind,  old 
faithful  friend!"  said  she,  then  shook 
iier  head.  "No,  we  are  not  to  dine 
witii  you ;  nor  sit  together  at  the  ope- 
ra, in  llomburg." 

Ashmead  looked  a  little  chagrined. 
"So  be  it,"  he  said,  dryly.  "But  at 
least  introduce  me  to  him.  I'll  try 
and  overcome  his  prejudices." 

"  It  is  not  even  in  mv  power  to  do 
that." 

1* 


"Oh,  I  see.  I'm  not  good  enough 
for  him, "said  Ashmead,  bitterly. 

"  You  do  yourself  injustice,  and  him 
too,"  said  Ina,  courteouslv. 

"  Well,  then  ?" 

"  My  friend,"  said  she,  deprecating- 
Iv,  "  he  is  not  here." 
'"Not  here?  That  is  odd.  Well, 
then,  you  will  be  dull  till  he  comes 
back.  Come  without  him;  at  all 
events,  to  the  opera." 

She  turned  her  tortured  eyes  away. 
"I  have  not  the  heart." 

This  made  Ashmead  look  at  her 
more  attentively.  "  Wiiy,  what  is  the 
matter?"  said  he.  "You  are  in  trou- 
ble. I  declare  you  are  trembling,  and 
your  eyes  are  filling.  My  poor  lady — 
in  Heaven's  name,  what  is  the  matter  ?" 

"Hush!"  said  Ina;  "not  so  loud." 
Then  she  looked  him  in  the  face  a  lit- 
tle while,  blushed,  hesitated,  faltered, 
and  at  last  laid  one  white  hand  upon 
her  bosom,  that  was  beginning  to 
heave,  and  said,  with  patient  dignity, 
"My  old  friend — I — am — deserted." 

Ashmead  looked  at  her  with  amaze- 
ment aiul  incredulity.  "  Deserted  !" 
said  he,  faintly.    "You — deserted !  !  !" 

"  Yes,"  said  she,  "deserted;  but 
perhaps  not  forever."  Her  noble  eyes 
filled  to  the  brim,  and  two  tears  stood 
ready  to  run  over. 

"  Why,  the  man  must  be  an  idiot!" 
shouted  Ashmead. 

"  Hush  !  not  so  loud.  That  waiter 
is  listening:  let  me  come  to  your  ta- 
ble." 

She  came  and  sat  down  at  his  table, 
and  lie  sat  opposite  her.  They  looked 
at  each  other.  He  waited  for  her  to 
speak.  With  all  her  fortitude,  her 
voice  faltered,  under  the  eye  of  sym- 
pathy. 

"You  are  my  old  friend,"  she  said. 
"Ill  try  and  tell  you  all."  But  she 
could  not  all  in  a  moment,  and  tiie 
two  tears  trickled  o\er  and  ran  down 
her  cheeks  ;  Ashmead  saw  them,  anti 
burst  out,  "The  villain! — the  villain!" 

"No,  no,"  said  she,  "do  not  call 
him  tliat.     I  could  not  bear  it.     Be- 


8 


A  WOMAN-HATEK. 


lieve  me,  he  is  no  villain."  Then  she 
dried  her  eves,  and  said,  lesolutely, 
"  If  I  am  to  teH  yoii,  you  must  not  aj)- 
ply  harsli  words  to  him.  Tiiey  would 
close  my  mouth  at  once,  and  close  my 
heart." 

"I  won't  say  a  word,"  said  Ash- 
mead,  submissively;  "so  tell  me  all." 

Ina  reflected  a  moment,  ami  then 
told  her  tale.  Dealing  now  with  long- 
er sentences,  she  betrayed  her  foreign 
half. 

"Being  alone  so  long,"  said  she, 
"has  made  me  reflect  more  than  in 
all  my  life  before,  and  I  now  under- 
stand many  things  that,  at  the  time,  I 
coidd  not.  He  to  whom  I  have  given 
my  love,  and  resigned  the  art  in  which 
I  was  advancing — with  your  assistance 
— is,  by  nature,  impetuous  and  incon- 
stant. He  was  born  so,  and  I  the  op- 
posite. His  love  for  me  was  too  vio- 
lent to  last  forever  in  any  man,  and  it 
soon  cooled  in  him,  because  he  is  in- 
constant by  nature.  He  was  jealous 
of  the  public :  he  must  have  all  my 
heart,  and  all  my  time,  and  so  he  wore 
his  own  passion  out.  Then  his  great 
restlessness,  having  now  no  chain,  be- 
came too  strong  for  our  happiness. 
He  pined  for  change,  as  some  wander- 
ers pine  for  a  fixed  home.  Is  it  not 
strange?  I,  a  child  of  the  theatre,  am 
at  heart  domestic.  He,  a  gentleman 
and  a  scholai",  born,  bred,  and  fitted  to 
adorn  the  best  society,  is  by  nature  a 
Bohemian." 

"  One  word  :  is  there  another  wom- 
an ?" 

"No,  not  that  I  know  of;  Heav- 
en forbid  !"  said  Ina.  "Hut  there 
is  something  very  dreadful :  there  is 
gambling.  He  has  a  passion  for  it, 
and  I  fear  I  wearied  him  by  my  re- 
monstrances. He  dragged  me  about 
from  one  gambliiig-]ilace  to  another, 
and  1  saw  that  if  I  resisted  he  would 
go  without  me.  He  lost  a  fortune 
while  we  were  together,  and  I  do  real- 
ly believe  he  is  ruined,  poor  dear." 

Asiimead  suppressed  all  signs  of  ill- 
temper,  and  asked,  grimly,  "Did  he 
quarrel  with  you,  then?" 


"Oh  no;  he  never  said  an  unkind 
word  to  me ;  and  I  was  not  always  so 
forbearing,  for  I  passed  months  of  tor- 
ment. I  saw  that  atfection,  which  was 
my  all,  gliding  gradually  away  from 
me;  and  the  tortured  will  cry  out.  I 
am  not  an  ungoverned  woman,  but 
sometimes  the  agony  was  intolerable, 
and  I  complained.  Well,  that  agony, 
I  long  for  it  back ;  for  now  1  am  des- 
olate." 

"Poor  soul!  How  could  a  man 
have  the  heart  to  leave  you  ?  how 
could  he  have  the  face  ?" 

"Oh,  he  did  not  do  it  shamelessly. 
He  left  me  for  a  week,  to  visit  friends 
in  England.  But  he  wrote  to  me  from 
London.  He  had  left  me  at  Berlin. 
He  said  that  he  did  not  like  to  tell  me 
before  parting,  but  I  must  not  expect 
to  see  him  for  six  weeks ;  and  he  de- 
sired me  to  go  to  my  mother  in  Den- 
mark. He  would  send  his  next  letter 
to  me  there.  Ah  !  he  knew  I  should 
need  my  mother  when  his  second  letter 
came.  He  had  jilanned  it  all,  that  the 
blow  might  not  kill  me.  He  wrote  to 
tell  me  he  was  a  ruined  man,  and  he 
was  too  proud  to  let  me  support  him : 
he  begged  my  pardon  for  his  love,  for 
his  desertion,  for  ever  having  crossed 
my  brilliant  path  like  a  dark  cloud. 
He  praised  me,  he  thanked  me,  he 
blessed  me ;  but  he  left  me :  it  was  a 
beautiful  letter,  but  it  was  the  death- 
warrant  of  my  heart.  I  was  aban- 
doned." 

Ashmead  started  up  and  walked 
very  briskly,  with  a  great  apjjcarance 
of  business  requiring  vast  dispatch,  to 
the  other  end  of  the  salle  ;  and  there, 
being  out  of  Ina's  hearing,  he  sj)oke 
his  mind  to  a  candlestick  with  three 
branches.  "D — n  him  !  Heartless, 
sentimental  scoundrel!  D — n  him! 
D— n  him!" 

Having  relieved  his  mind  with  this 
pious  ejaculation,  he  returned  to  Ina  at 
a  reasonable  pace  and  much  relieved, 
and  was  now  enabled  to  say,  cheer- 
fully, "Let  us  take  a  business  view 
of  it.  He  is  gone — gone  of  his  own 
accord.      Give    him   your   blessing  — 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


I  have  given  him  mine  —  and  forget 
him." 

"Forget  him!  Never  while  I  live. 
Is  that  your  advice  ?  Oh,  Mr.  Ash- 
mead  I  And  the  moment  I  saw  your 
friendly  face,  I  said  to  myself,  'I  am 
no  longer  alone  :  here  is  one  that  will 
help  me.'" 

"  And  so  I  will,  you  may  be  sure  of 
that," said  Ashmead,  eagerly.  "What 
is  the  business  ?" 

"The  business  is  to  find  him.  That 
is  the  first  thing." 

"But  he  is  in  England." 

"Oh  no;  that  was  eight  months 
ago.  He  could  not  stay  eight  months 
in  any  country ;  besides,  there  are  no 
gambling-houses  there." 

"And  have  you  been  eight  months 
searching  Europe  for  tiiis  madman  ?" 

"No.  At  first  pride,  and  anger  were 
strong,  and  I  said,  '  Here  I  stay  till  he 
comes  back  to  me  and  to  his  senses,'  " 

"Brava!" 

"  Yes ;  but  month  after  month  went 
by,  carrying  away  my  pride  and  my 
anger,  and  leaving  my  affection  undi- 
minished. At  last  I  could  bear  it  no 
longer ;  so,  as  he  would  not  come  to 
his  senses — " 

"You  took  leave  of  yours,  and  came 
out  on  a  wild-goose  chase,"  said  Ash- 
mead, but  too  regretfully  to  affront  lier. 

"  It  w«s,"said  Ina;  "I  feel  it.  But 
it  is  not  one  now,  because  I  have  t/ou 
to  assist  me  with  your  experience  and 
al)ility.  You  will  find  him  for  me, 
somehow  or  other.     I  know  you  will." 

Let  a  woman  have  ever  so  little  guile, 
she  must  have  tact,  if  she  is  a  true  wom- 
an. Now,  tact,  if  its  etymology  is  to 
be  trusted,  im])lics  a  fine  sense  and 
power  of  touch  ;  so,  in  virtue  of  her 
sex,  she  pats  a  horse  before  she  rides 
him,  and  a  man  before  she  drives  him. 
There,  ladies,  there  is  an  indictment 
in  two  counts  ;  traverse  eitlier  of  them 
if  you  can. 

Joseph  Ashmead,  thus  delicately 
but  efi'ectually  manipulated,  swelled 
witii  gratified  vanity,  and  said,  "You 
are  quite  rigiit ;  you  can't  do  this  sort 
of  tliingyourself ;  you  want  an  agent." 


"Of  course  I  do." 

"Well,  you  have  got  one.  Now  let 
me  see — fifty  to  one  he  is  not  at  Hom- 
burg  at  all.  If  he  is,  he  most  likely 
stavs  at  Frankfort.  He  is  a  swell,  is 
he  not  ?" 

"  Swell !"  said  the  Anglo-Dane,  puz- 
zled. "Not  that  I  am  aware  of." 
She  was  strictly  on  her  guard  against 
vituperation  of  her  beloved  scamp. 

"Pooh,  pooh  !"  said  Ashmead  ;  "  of 
course  he  is,  and  not  the  sort  to  lodge 
in  Homburg." 

"Then  behold  my  incompetence!" 
said  Ina. 

"But  the  place  to  look  for  him  is 
the  gambling  saloon.     Been  there?" 

"Oh  no." 

"Then  vou  must." 

"What!     Me!     Alone?" 

"No  ;  with  your  agent." 

"Oh,  my  friend  ;  I  said  you  would 
find  him." 

"  What  a  woman  !  She  will  have  it 
he  is  in  Homburg.  And  suppose  we 
do  find  him,  and  you  should  not  be 
welcome  ?" 

"  I  shall  not  be  unwelcome.  I  shall 
be  a  chan()e." 

"Shall  I  tell  you  how  to  draw  him 
to  Hoinhm'gj  wherever  he  is  ?"  said 
Ashmead,  verv  demurely. 

"Yes,  tell  me  that." 

"And  do  ?«e  a  good  turn  into  the 
bargait!." 

"Is  it  possible?  Can  I  be  so  fort- 
unate ?" 

"  Yes ;  and  as  you  say,  it  is  a  slice 
of  luck  to  be  able  to  kill  iwo  birds  with 
one  stone.  Why,  consider — tlie  way 
to  recover  a  man  is  not  to  run  after 
him,  but  to  make  him  run  to  you.  It 
is  like  catciiing  moths  ;  you  don't  run 
out  into  the  garden  after  them ;  you 
light  the  candle  and  open  the  window, 
and  they  do  the  rest — as  he  will.'" 

"Yes,  yes;  but  what  am  I  to  do 
for  you  ?"  asked  Ina,  getting  a  little 
uneasv  and  suspicious. 

"What!  didnt  I  tell  you?"  said 
Ashmead,  with  cool  efl'rontery. 
"Why,  only  to  .sing  for  me  in  this  lit- 
tle opera,  that  is  all."      And  he  jiut 


10 


A  WO.MAN-IIATKK. 


liis  liaiuls  in  liis  pockets,  and  awaited 
thuiulei-flaps. 

■'Oh,  that  is  all,  is  it?"  said  Ina, 
panting  a  little,  and  turning  two  great, 
leproaciitiil  eyes  on  liini. 

"That  is  all,"  said  he,  stoutly. 
"Why,  what  attracted  him  at  first? 
Wasn't  it  your  singing,  the  admiration 
of  the  public,  the  l)on<juets  and  hiavas  ? 
What  caught  the  moth  once  will  catch 
it  again — '  moping  '  wont.  And  sure- 
ly you  will  not  lefiise  to  draw  him. 
merely  because  you  can  pull  me  out  of 
a  fix  into  the  bai'gain.  Look  here,  I 
have  inidertaken  to  find  a  singer  by  to- 
morrow night  ;  and  what  chance  is 
there  of  in\-  getting  even  a  third-rate 
one?  Why,  the  very  hour  I  have 
spent  so  agreeably,  talking  to  you,  has 
diminished  my  chance." 

"Oh!"  said  Ina,  "this  is  driving 
me  into  your  net." 

"  I  own  it,"  said  Joseph,  cheerfully  ; 
"  I'm  quite  unscru])id()iis,  because  I 
know  you  will  thank  me  afterward." 

"The  very  idea  of  going  back  to 
the  stage  makes  me  tremble,"  said 
Ina. 

"Of  course  it  does;  and  those  wlio 
trend)le  succeed.  In  a  long  experi- 
ence I  never  knew  an  instance  to  the 
contrary.  It  is  the  conceited  fools, 
who  feel  safe,  that  are  in  danger." 

"What  is  the  part?" 

"  One  you  know — Siebel  in  '  Faust,' 
with  two  new  songs." 

"Excuse  me,  ]  do  not  know  it." 

"Why,  every  body  knows  it." 

"You  mean  every  body  has  heard 
it  sung.     I  know  neither  the  music 
nor  the  words,  and  I  can  not  sing  in 
correctly  even  for  you." 

"Oh,  you  can  master  the  airs  in  a 
day,  and  the  cackle  in  half  an  hour." 

"I  am  not  so  expeditious.  If  you 
are  serious,  get  me  the  book — oh  !  ho 
calls  the  poet's  words  the  cackle — and 
the  music  of  the  part  directly,  and  bor- 
row me  the  score." 

"  Borrow  you  the  score !  Ah!  that 
shows  the  school  you  were  bred  in. 
I  gaze  at  you  with  admiration." 

"Then    jilease  don't,  for  we  have 


not  a  moment  to  waste.     You   liave 
teriilicd  me  out  of  my  senses.     Flv  I" 
"  Yes;  but  before  1  fly,  tiiere  is  some- 
tliing  to  be  settled — salary  !" 
"As  mucli  as  they  will  give." 
"Of  course;  but  give  me  a  hint." 
"No,  no;    you   will  get  me  some 
money,  for  I  ain  poor.     I  gave  all  my 
savings  to  my  dear  mother,  and  settled 
iicr  on  a  farm  in  dear  old  Denmark. 
Hut   I   ically  sing  for  yim  more  liian 
for  llombin-g,  so  make  no  difficulties. 
Above  all,  do  not  discuss  salary  with 
me.     Settle  it  and  draw  it  for  me,  and 
let  me  hear  no  more  about  that.     I 
am  on  thorns." 

He  soon  fotmd  the  director,  and 
told  him,  excitedly,  there  was  a  way 
out  of  his  present  difiiculty.  Ina 
Klosking  was  in  the  town.  He  had 
implored  her  to  retm-n  to  the  opera. 
She  had  refused  at  first ;  but  he  had 
used  all  his  inHuence  with  her,  and  at 
last  had  obtained  a  half  promise  on 
conditions  —  a  two  months'  engage- 
ment :  certain  parts,  which  he  specified 
out  of  his  own  head  ;  salary,  a  hiuidred 
thalers  per  night,  and  a  half  clear  ben- 
efit on  hei'  last  appearance. 

The  director  demurred  to  the  sal- 
ary. 

Ashmead  said  he  was  mad  :  she  was 
the  German  Alboni ;  her  low  notes 
like  a  trinni)et,  and  the  compass  of  a 
mezzo-soprano  besides. 

The  director  yielded,  and  drew  up 
the  engagement  in  duplicate.  Ash- 
mead tiieii  borrowed  the  music  and 
came  back  to  the  inn  triumphant.  He 
waved  the  agreement  over  his  head, 
then  submitted  it  to  her.  She  glanced 
at  it,  made  a  wry  face,  and  said,  "  Two 
months!  I  never  dreamed  of  such  a 
thing." 

"Not  worth  your  while  to  do  it  for 
less,"  said  Ashmead.  "Come,"  said 
he,  authoritatively,  "you  have  got  a 
good  barg.dn  every  way;   so  sign." 

She  lifted  her  head  high,  and  looked 
at  him  like  a  lioness,  at  being  oidered. 

Ashmead  replied  by  putting  the  ))a- 
l)er  before  her  and  giving  her  the  pen. 


A  WOxMAN-HATEK. 


11 


She  cast  one  more  reproachful 
glance,  then  signed  like  a  lamb. 

"Now,"  said  she,  turning  fretful, 
"I  want  a  piano." 

"You  sliall  have  one,"said  he.  coax- 
ingly.  He  went  to  the  landlord  and 
inquired  if  tliere  was  a  piano  in  the 
liouse. 

"  Yes,  there  is  one,"  snid  he. 

"And  it  is  mine, "said  a  sharp  fe- 
male voice. 

"  May  I  beg  the  use  of  it  ?" 

"No,"  said  tlie  lady,  a  tall,  bony 
spinster.  "I  can  not  have  it  strum- 
reed  on  and  put  out  of  tune  by  every 
body." 

"  Rut  this  is  not  every  body.  The 
lady  I  want  it  for  is  a  professional  mu- 
sician.    Top  of  the  tree," 

"The  hardest  strummers  going." 

"But,  mademoiselle,  this  lady  is  go- 
ing to  sing  at  the  opera.  iShe  must 
study.      She  must  have  a  jiiano." 

"But  [grindy]  she  need  not  have 
mine." 

"Tiien  she  must  leave  the  hotel." 

"Oh  [iiauglitily],  that  is  as  she 
pleases." 

Ashmead  went  to  Ina  Klosking  in  a 
rage  and  told  her  all  this,  and  said  lie 
would  take  her  to  another  hotel  kept 
by  a  Frenchman  :  these  Germnns  were 
bears.  But  Iiui  Klosking  just  shrug- 
ged her  slioulders,  and  said,  "Take 
me  to  her." 

He  did  so ;  and  slio  said,  in  Ger- 
man, "  Madam,  I  can  quite  under- 
stand your  reluctance  to  have  your  ])i- 
ano  strummed.  But  as  your  hotel  is 
quiet  and  respectable,  and  I  am  im- 
willing  to  leave  it,  will  you  permit  me 
to  play  to  you  ?  and  tlien  you  shall  de- 
cide whether  I  am  worthy  to  stay  or 
not." 

Tiie  spinster  drank  those  mellow  ac- 
cents, colored  a  little,  looked  keenly  at 
the  speaker,  ami,  after  a  moment's  re- 
flection, said,  half  sullenly,  "  No.  mad- 
am, you  are  polite.  1  must  risk  my 
])Oor  piano.  Be  pleased  to  come  with 
me." 

She  then  conducted  them  to  a  large, 
nnoccui)ied  room  on  the  first-Hoor,  and  ' 


unlocked  the  piano,  a  very  fine  one, 
and  in  perfect  tune. 

Ina  sat  down,  and  performed  a  com- 
position then  in  vogue. 

"You  play  correctly,  madam,"  said 
the  si)inster  ;  "  but  your  music — what 
stuff'!  Such  tilings  are  null.  They 
vex  the  ear  a  little,  but  they  never 
reach  the  mind." 

Ashmead  was  wroth,  and  could 
hardly  contain  himself;  but  the  Klos- 
king was  amused,  and  rather  pleased. 
"  Mademoiselle  has  positive  tastes  in 
music,"  said  she  ;  "  all  the  better." 

"Yes,"  said  the  spinster,  "most 
music  is  mere  noise.  I  hate  and  de- 
spise forty -nine  compositiotis  out  of 
fifty ;  but  the  fiftieth  I  adore.  Give 
me  something  simple,  with  a  little  soul 
in  it — if  you  can." 

Ina  Klosking  looked  at  her,  and  ob- 
served her  age  and  her  dress,  the  lat- 
ter old-fashioned.  She  said,  quietly, 
"Will  mademoiselle  do  me  the  honor 
to  stand  before  me?  I  will  sing  her  a 
trifle  my  mother  taught  me." 

The  spinster  complied,  and  stood 
erect  and  stiff",  with  her  arms  folded. 
Ina  fixed  her  deep  eyes  on  her,  j)lay- 
ing  a  li<piid  prelude  all  the  time,  then 
swelled  her  chest  and  sung  the  old 
Venetian  canzonet,  "  II  pescatore  dell' 
oiidii."  It  is  a  small  thing,  but  there  is 
no  limit  to  the  genius  of  song.  The 
Klosking  sung  tliis  trifle  with  a  voice 
so  grand,  sonorous,  and  sweet,  and, 
above  all,  with  such  feeling,  taste,  and 
inirity,  that  somehow  slie  transported 
her  hearers  to  Venetian  waters,  moon- 
lit, and  thrilled  them  to  the  heart,  while 
the  great  glass  chandelier  kept  ring- 
ing very  audibly,  so  true,  massive,  and 
vii)rating  were  her  tones  in  that  large, 
empty  room. 

At  the  flrst  verse  that  cross-grained 
spinster,  with  real  likes  and  di>likes, 
I)ut  a  bony  hand  quietly  before  her 
eyes.  At  the  last,  she  made  thi-ee 
strides,  as  a  soldier  marches,  and  fell 
all  of  a  ]iiece,  like  a  wooden  vumne- 
f/uin,  on  the  singer's  neck.  "Take  my 
)iiano,"  she  sobbed,  "for  you  have 
taken  the  heart  out  of  mv  bodv." 


12 


A  WOMAN-UATEIl. 


Ina  returned  her  embrace,  and  did 
not  coiK'eal  lier  pleasure.  "  I  am  veiy 
proud  of  such  a  conquest,"  said  she. 

From  that  hour  Ina  was  tiie  land- 
lady's pet.  The  room  and  ])iauo  were 
made  over  to  her,  and,  being  in  a  great 
fright  at  what  she  had  undertaken,  she 
studied  and  jiracticed  her  part  night 
and  day.  She  made  Ashmead  call  a 
rehearsal  next  day,  and  she  came  home 
from  it  wretched  and  almost  hysterical. 

She  summoned  her  slave  Ashmead  ; 
he  stood  before  her  with  an  air  of  hyp- 
ocritical sul)mission. 

"The  Flute  was  not  at  rehearsal, 
sir,"  said  she,  severely,  "  nor  the  Oboe, 
nor  the  Violoncello." 

"Just  like  'em,"  said  Ashmead, 
tranquilly. 

"The  tenor  is  a  quavering  stick. 
He  is  one  of  those  who  think  that  an 
unmanly  trembling  of  tiie  voice  repre- 
sents every  manly  passion." 

"Their  name  is  legion." 

"The  soprano  is  insipid.  And 
they  are  all  imperfect  —  contentedly 
imperfect.  How  can  i)eo]jle  sing  in- 
coriectly?     It  is  like  lying." 

"That  is  what  makes  it  so  com- 
mon— he!  he!" 

"  I  do  not  desire  wit,  hut  consola- 
tion. I  believe  you  are  Mephistoph- 
eles  himself  in  disguise ;  for  ever  since 
I  signed  tliat  diabolical  compact  you 
made  me,  I  have  been  in  a  state  of 
terror,  agitation,  misgiving,  and  misery 
— and  1  thank  and  l)less  you  for  it; 
for  these  tliorns  and  nettles  they  lac- 
erate me,  and  make  me  live.  They 
break  the  dull,  lethargic  agony  of  utter 
desolation." 

Then,  as  her  nerves  were  female 
nerves,  and  her  fortitude  female  forti- 
tude, siie  gave  way,  for  once,  and  be- 
gan to  cry  patiently. 

Ashmead  tiie  jiractical  went  softly 
away,  and  left  her,  as  we  must  leave 
her  for  a  time,  to  battle  her  business 
with  one  hand  and  her  sorrow  with 
the  other. 


CHAPTER  II. 

In  the  Hotel  Ilussie,  at  Frankfort, 
there  was  a  grand  apartment,  lofty, 
spacious,  and  richly  furnished,  with  a 
broad  balcony  overlooking  the  Platz, 
and  roofed,  so  to  speak,  with  colored 
stni-blinds,  which  softened  the  glare 
of  the  Khineland  sun  to  a  rosy  and 
mellow  light. 

In  the  veianda,  a  tall  English  gen- 
tleman was  leaning  over  the  balcony, 
smoking  a  cigar,  and  being  courted  by 
a  fair  young  lady.  Her  light-gray  eyes 
dwelt  on  him  in  a  way  to  magnetize  a 
man,  and  she  purred  pretty  nothings 
at  his  ear,  in  a  soft  tone  she  reserved 
for  males.  Iler  voice  was  clear,  loud, 
and  rather  high-])itciied  whenever  she 
spoke  to  a  person  of  her  own  sex ;  a 
comely  English  blonde,  with  pale  eye- 
lashes ;  a  keen,  sensible  girl,  and  not 
a  downright  wicked  one ;  only  born 
artful.  This  was  Fanny  Dover;  and 
the  tall  gentleman — whose  relation  she 
was,  and  whose  wife  she  resolved  to 
be  in  one  year,  three  years,  or  ten, 
according  to  his  power  of  resistance 
—was  Harrington  Vizard,  a  Barford- 
shire  squire,  with  twelve  thousand 
acres  and  a  library. 

As  f(jr  Fanny,  she  had  only  two 
thousand  poimds  in  all  the  world ;  so 
compensating  Nature  endowed  her 
with  a  fair  complexion,  gray,  mesmer- 
ic eyes,  art,  and  resolution — qualities 
that  often  enable  a  poor  girl  to  con- 
quer landed  estates,  with  their  male 
incumbrances. 

Beautiful  and  delicate — on  the  sur- 
face— as  was  Miss  Dover's  courtship 
of  her  first  cousin  once  removed,  it  did 
not  strike  fiie;  it  neither  ])leased  nor 
annoyed  him  ;  it  fell  as  dead  as  a  lan- 
tern firing  on  an  iceberg.  Not  that 
he  disliked  her  by  any  means.  lint 
he  was  thirty-two,  had  seen  the  world, 
and  had  been  unlucky  with  women. 
So  he  was  now  a  divorce,  and  a  de- 
clared woman-hater;  railed  on  them, 
and  kei)t  them  at  arms-length,  Fanny 
Dover  included.  It  was  ready  comic- 
al to  see  with  what  j)erfect  coolness  and 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


13 


cynical  apathy  he  parried  the  stealthy 
advances  of  this  cat-like  girl,  a  mis- 
tress in  the  art  of  pleasing — when  she 
chose. 

Inside  the  room,  on  a  couch  of  crim- 
son velvet,  sat  a  young  lady  of  rare 
and  dazzling  beauty.  Her  face  was  a 
long  but  perfect  oval,  pure  forehead, 
straight  nose,  with  exquisite  nostrils ; 
coral  lips,  and  ivory  teeth.  But  what 
first  struck  the  beholder  were  her 
glorious  dark  eyes,  and  magnificent 
eyebrows  as  black  as  jet.  Her  hair 
was  really  like  a  raven's  dark-purple 
wing. 

These  beauties,  in  a  stern  character, 
might  have  inspired  awe ;  the  more 
so  as  her  form  and  limbs  were  grand 
and  statuesque  for  her  age ;  but  ail 
was  softened  down  to  sweet  woman- 
hood by  long,  silken  lashes,  often  low- 
ered, and  a  gracious  face  that  blushed 
at  a  word,  blushed  little,  blushed  much, 
blushed  pinky,  blushed  pink,  blushed 
roseate,  blushed  rosy ;  and,  I  am  sor- 
ry to  say,  blushed  crimson,  and  even 
scarlet,  in  the  course  of  those  events 
I  am  about  to  record,  as  unblushing 
as  turnip,  and  cool  as  cucumber.  This 
scale  of  blushes  arose  not  out  of  mod- 
esty alone,  but  out  of  the  wide  range 
of  her  sensibility.  On  hearing  of  a 
noble  deed,  she  blushed  warm  appro- 
bation ;  at  a  worthy  sentiment,  she 
blushed  heart-felt  sympathy.  If  you 
said  a  thing  at  the  fire  that  might  hurt 
some  person  at  the  farthest  window, 
she  would  blush  for  fear  it  should  be 
overheard,  and  cause  pain. 

In  short,  it  was  her  peculiarity  to 
blush  readily  for  matters  quite  outside 
herself,  and  to  sliow  tiie  male  observer 
(if  any)  the  amazing  sensibility,  ii\mn 
from  egotism,  that  sometimes  adorns 
a  young,  higli-min(le<l  woman,  not  yet 
hanlened  by  the  world. 

This  young  lady  was  Zoe  Vizard, 
daughter  of  Harrington's  fatlier  by  a 
Greek  mother,  wlu)  died  when  slie  was 
twelve  years  of  age.  Her  mixed  ori- 
gin showed  itself  curiously.  In  her 
figure  aiul  face  she  was  all  (ircek,  even 
to  her  hand,  which  was  molded  divine- 


ly, but  as  long  and  large  as  befitted 
her  long,  grand,  antique  arm  ;  but  her 
mind  was  Northern — not  a  grain  of 
Greek  subtlety  in  it.  Indeed,  she 
would  iiave  made  a  poor  hand  at  dark 
deceit,  with  a  transparent  face  and  el- 
oquent blood,  that  kept  coursing  from 
her  hgart  to  her  cheeks  and  back  again, 
and  painting  her  thoughts  upon  her 
countenance. 

Having  installed  herself,  with  fem- 
inine instinct,  in  a  crimson  couch  that 
framed  her  to  perfection,  Zoe  Vizai-d 
was  at  work  embroidering.     She  had 
some  flowers,  and   their  leaves,  lying 
near  her  on  a  little  table,  and,  with 
colored   silks,  clienille,  etc.,  she  imi- 
tated   each  flower  and   its   leaf  very 
adroitly  without  a  pattern.     This  was 
clever,  and,  indeed,  rather  a  rare  tal- 
ent ;    but  she  lowered  her  head  over 
this   work   with   a    demure,  beaming 
complacency,  embroidery  alone  never 
yet   excited  without   external   assist- 
ance.    Accordingly,  on  a  large  stool, 
or  little  ottoman,  at  her  feet,  but  at  a 
respectful  distance,  sat  a  young  man, 
almost  her  match  in  beauty,  thougli  in 
quite  another  style.     In  height  about 
five  feet  ten,  broad-shouldered,  dean- 
built,  a  model  of  strength,  agility,  and 
grace.    His  face  fair,  fresh,  and  healthy- 
looking  ;  his  large  eyes  hazel;  tlie crisp 
curling  hair  on  his  shapely  head  a  won- 
derful brown  in  the  mass,  but  with  one 
tiiin  streak  of  gold  above  the  forehead, 
and  all  the  loose  hairs  glittering  gold- 
en.    A  sliort  ciip|>ed  mustache  saved 
him  from  looking  too  feminine,  yet  did 
not  liide  his  exjiressive  mouth.      He 
had  white  hands,  as  soft  and  supple  as 
a  woman's,  a  mellow  voice,  and  a  win- 
ning  tongue.     This  dangerous  young 
gentleman  was  gazing  s(<ftly  on  Zoe 
V'izard  and  purring  in  her  ear;    and 
she  was  conscious  of  iiis  gaze  without 
looking  at  him,  aiul  was  sip|)ing  the 
honey,  and  showed  it,  by  seeming  more 
absorbed  in  her  work  than  girls  ever 
really  are. 

Matters,  however,  had  not  gone 
openly  very  far.  She  was  still  on 
her   defense  :    so,  after   imbibing   his 


!4 


A  WUMAN-HATKU. 


ttiUteries  demurely  a  lung  time,  she 
discovered,  all  in  one  moment,  that 
they  were  objectionable.  "  Dear  me, 
Mr.  Severne,"  said  she,  "you  do  noth- 
ing but  pay  compliments." 

'•  How  can  1  help  it,  sitting  here?" 
intjuired  he. 

"There  —  there,"  said  she:, then, 
quietly,  "Does  it  never  occur  to  you 
that  only  foolish  people  are  pleased 
with  flatteries?" 

"  I  have  Iieard  that ;  but  I  don"t  be- 
lieve it.  I  know  it  makes  me  awfully 
happv  whenever  vou  say  a  kind  word 
of  me." 

"  That  is  far  from  proving  your 
wisdom,"  said  Zoe;  "and,  instead  of 
dwelling  on  my  perfections,  wliich  do 
not  exist,  I  wish  you  would  tell  me 
things." 

"What  things?" 

"How  can  I  tell  till  I  hear  them? 
Well,  then,  tilings  about  yourself." 

"  That  is  a  poor  subject." 

"  Let  me  be  the  judge." 

"Oh,  there  are  lots  of  fellows  who 
are  always  talking  about  themselves  : 
let  me  be  an  exception." 

This  answer  jiuzzled  Zoe,  and  she 
was  silent,  and  put  on  a  cold  look. 
She  was  not  accustomed  to  be  refused 
any  thing  reasonable. 

Severne  examined  her  closely,  and 
saw  he  was  expected  to  obey  her.  He 
tlien  resolved  to  prepare,  in  a  day  or 
two,  an  autobiography  full  of  details 
that  should  satisfy  Zoe's  curiosity,  and 
win  her  admiration  and  her  love.  But 
he  could  not  do  it  all  in  a  moment, 
because  his  memory  of  his  real  life 
obstructed  his  fancy.  Meantime  he 
operated  a  diversion.  He  said,  "  Set 
a  poor  fellow  an  example.  Tell  me 
something  about  yoHrsc//" — since  I  have 
the  bad  taste,  and  the  presumption,  to 
be  interested  in  you,  and  can't  helj)  it. 
Did  you  spring  from  the  foam  of  the 
Archipelago?  or  are  you  descended 
from  Hacchus  and  Ariadne?' 

"If  you  want  sensi!)le  answers,  ask 
sensilile  questions,"  said  Zoe,  trying  to 
frown  him  down  with  her  black  brows  ; 
but  her  sweet  cheek  would  tint  itself. 


and  her  sweet  mouth  smile  and  expose 
much  intercoral  ivorv. 

"Well,  then,"  said  he,  "  I  will  ask 
you  a  prosaic  question,  and  I  only  hope 
you  won't  tliink  it  impertinent.  How 
— ever — ditl  suc-li  a  strangely  assorted 
party  as  yours  come  to  travel  together? 
And  if  Vizard  has  turned  woman-hater, 
as  he  pretends,  how  comes  he  to  be  at 
the  head  of  a  female  party  who  are 
not  all  of  them — "  he  hesitated. 

"Go  on,  Mr.  Severne;  not  all  of 
them  what  ?"  said  Zoe,  prepared  to 
stand  up  for  her  sex. 

"Not  perfect  ?" 

"  That  is  a  very  cautions  statement, 
and — there — you  are  as  slippery  as  an 
eel ;  there  is  no  getting  hold  of  you. 
Well,  never  mind,  I  will  set  you  an  ex- 
am])le  of  comininiicativeness,  and  re- 
veal this  mystery  hidden  as  yet  from 
mankind." 

"Speak,  dread  queen;  thy  servant 
heareth." 

"Ha!  ha  I  ha!  Mr,  Severne,  you 
amuse  me." 

"You  only  interest  >ne,"  was  the 
soft  rei)ly. 

Zoe  blushed  pink,  but  turned  it  off. 
"Then  why  do  you  not  attend  to 
my  interesting  narrative,  instead  of — 
Well,  then,  it  began  with  my  asking 
the  dear  fellow  to  take  me  a  tour,  es- 
pecially to  Rome." 

"You  wanted  to  see  the  statues  of 
your  ancestors,  and  shame  them." 

"  Much  obliged  ;  I  was  iu)t  quite 
such  a  goose.  I  wanted  to  see  the 
Tiber,  and  the  Colosseum,  and  Trajan's 
jiillar,  and  the  'i'arpeian  rock,  and  the 
one  everlasting  city  that  binds  ancient 
and  modern  history  together." 

She  flashed  her  great  eyes  on  him, 
and  he  was  dumb.  She  had  risen 
above  the  region  of  his  ideas.  Having 
silenced  her  commentator,  she  returned 
to  her  story.  "  Well,  dear  Harring- 
ton said  '  yes'  directly.  So  then  I  told 
Fanny,  and  she  said,  '  Oh,  do  take  me 
with  you  ?'  Now,  of  course  I  was  only 
too  glad  to  have  Fanny  ;  she  is  my  re- 
lation, and  mv  friend." 

"Happy  girl!" 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


15 


"Be  quiet,  please.  So  I  asked 
Harrington  to  let  me  have  Fanny  with 
us,  and  you  siiould  have  seen  his  face. 
What,  he  travel  with  a  couple  of  us ! 
He —  I  don't  see  why  I  should  tell 
you  what  the  monster  said." 

' '  Oh  yes,  please  do. " 

"  You  won't  go  telling  any  body 
else,  then  ?" 

"  Not  a  living  soul,  upon  my  honor." 

"Well,  then,  he  said" — she  began 
to  blush  lii<e  a  rose — "that  he  looked 
on  me  as  a  mere  female  in  embryo ;  I 
had  not  yet  developed  the  vices  of  my 
sex.  But  Fanny  Dover  was  a  ripe 
flirt,  and  she  would  set  me  flirting,  and 
how  could  he  manage  the  pair?  In 
short,  sir,  he  refused  to  take  us,  and 
gave  his  reasons,  such  as  tliey  were, 
poor  dear !  Tiien  I  had  to  tell  Fan- 
ny. Then  she  began  to  cry,  and  told 
me  to  go  without  her.  But  I  would 
not  do  tliat,  wiien  I  had  once  asked 
her.  Then  slie  clung  round  my  neck, 
and  kissed  me,  and  begged  me  to  be 
cross  and  sullen,  and  tire  out  dear  Har- 
rington." 

"That  is  like  her." 

"How  do  you  know?"  said  Zoe, 
sharply. 

"  Oh,  I  have  studied  her  character." 

"  When,  pray  ?"  said  Zoe,  ironical- 
ly, yet  blushing  a  little,  because  her  se- 
cret meaning  was,  "  You  are  always 
at  my  ajjron-strings,  and  have  no  time 
to  fathom  FaTiuy." 

"  When  I  have  nothing  better  to 
do — when  you  are  out  of  tiie  room." 

"Well,  I  shall  be  out  of  the  room 
very  soon,  if  yon  say  another  word." 

"And  serve  me  right,  too.      I  am  a 
fool  to  talk  when  you  allow  me  to  list- 
en " 
en. 

"He  is  incorrigible  !"  said  Zoe,  pa- 
thetically. "  Well,  then,  I  refused  to 
pout  at  Harrington.  It  is  not  as  if 
he  had  no  reason  to  distrust  women, 
poor  dear  darling.  I  invited  Fanny 
to  stay  a  month  with  ns  ;  and,  when 
once  she  was*  in  tlie  liouse,  slie  soon 
got  over  me,  and  persuaded  me  to  play 
sad,  and  showed  me  how  to  do  it.  So 
we  wore  long  faces,  and  sweet  resig- 


nation, and  were  never  cross,  but  kept 
turning  tearful  eyes  upon  our  victim." 

"  Ha!  ha!  How  absurd  of  Vizard 
to  tell  you  that  two  women  would  be 
too  much  for  one  man." 

"No,  it  was  the  truth  ;  and  girls  are 
artful  creatures,  especially  when  they 
put  their  heads  together.  But  hear 
the  end  of  all  our  cunning.  One  day, 
after  dinner,  Harrington  asked  us  to 
sit  opposite  him;  so  we  did,  and  felt 
guilty.  He  surveyed  us  in  silence  a 
little  while,  and  then  he  said,  'My 
young  friends,  you  have  played  your 
"little  game  pretty  well,  especially  you, 
Zoe,  that  are  a  novice  in  the  fine  arts 
compared  with  Miss  Dover.'  Histri- 
onic talent  ought  to  be  rewarded  ;  he 
would  relent,  and  take  us  abroad,  on 
one  condition  :  there  must  be  a  chape- 
rone.  'AH  the  better,'  said  we  hypo- 
crites, eagerly  ;   '  and  who  ?'  " 

"  '  Oh,  a  person  equal  to  the  occa- 
sion—  an  old  maid  as  bitter  against 
men  as  ever  grapes  were  sour.  She 
would  follow  us  u])stairs,  down-stairs, 
and  into  my  lady's  chamber.  She 
would  have  an  eye  at  the  key-hole  by 
day,  and  an  ear  by  niglit,  when  we 
went  up  to  bed  and  talked  over  the 
events  of  our  frivolous  day.'  In  short, 
he  enumerated  our  duenna's  perfec- 
tions till  our  blood  ran  cold  ;  and  it 
was  ever  so  long  before  he  would  tell 
us  who  it  was — Aunt  Maiiland.  We 
screamed  with  surprise.  They  are 
like  cat  and  dog,  and  never  agree,  ex- 
cept to  difter.  We  sought  an  expla- 
nation of  this  strange  choice.  He 
obliged  us.  It  was  not  for  his  grati- 
fication he  took  the  old  cat ;  it  was  for 
ns.  She  would  relieve  him  of  a  vast 
res])onsibiiity.  The  vices  of  her  char- 
acter would  prove  too  strong  for  tlie 
little  faults  of  ours,  which  were  only 
volatility,  frivolity,  flirtation —  I  will 
Hot  tell  you  what  he  said." 

"  I  seem  to  iiear  Harrington  talk- 
ing," said  Severne.      "  Wiiat  on  earth 


maKos    nmi    so 


hard 


upon    women  j 


Would  you  mind  telling  me  that?" 

"Never  ask  me  that  question  again," 
said  Zoe,  with  sudden  gravity. 


16 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


"Well,  I  won't;  I'll  get  it  out  of 
him." 

"  If  you  say  a  word  to  him  about  it, 
I  sliall  be  shocked  and  otfended." 

She  was  pale  and  red  by  turns ;  but 
Severne  bowed  his  head  with  a  respect- 
ful submission  that  disarmed  her  di- 
rectly. She  turned  her  head  away, 
and  Severne,  watching  her,  saw  her 
eyes  fill. 

"  How  is  it,"  said  she,  thoughtfully, 
and  looking  away  from  him,  "that 
men  leave  out  tlieir  sisters  when  they 
sum  up  womankind?  Are  not  we 
women  too  ?  My  poor  brother  quite 
forgets  he  has  one  woman  who  will 
never,  never  desert  nor  deceive  him  ; 
dear,  darling  fellow!"  and  with  these 
three  last  words  she  rose,  and  kissed 
the  tips  of  her  fingers,  and  waved  ti)e 
kiss  to  Vizard  with  that  free  magni- 
tude of  gesttn-e  which  belonged  to  an- 
tiquity :  it  struck  the  Anglo  -  Saxon 
flirt  at  her  feet  with  amazement.  Not 
having  good  enough  under  his  skin 
to  sympathize  with  that  pious  impulse, 
he  first  stagnated  a  little  while  ;  and 
then,  not  to  be  silent  altogether,  nnule 
his  little,  stale,  commonplace  com- 
ment on  what  she  had  told  him. 
"  Why,  it  is  like  a  novel." 

"A  very  unromantic  one,"  replied 
Zoe. 

"I  don't  know  that.  I  have  read 
very  interesting  novels  with  fewer  new 
characters  than  this:  there's  a  dark 
beauty,  and  a  fair,  and  a  duenna  with 
an  eagle  eye  and  an  aquiline  nose." 

"Hush":"  said  Zoe:  "that  is  her 
room  ;"  and  pointed  to  a  (chamber  door 
that  opened  into  the  apartment. 

Oh,  marvelous  female  instinct ! 
The  duenna  in  charge  was  at  that 
moment  behind  that  very  door,  and 
her  eye  and  her  ear  at  the  key-hole, 
turn  about. 

Severne  continued  his  remarks,  but 
in  a  lower  voice. 

"Then  there's  a  woman-hater  and  a 
man-hater:   good  for  dialogue." 

Now  this  banter  did  not  ])lease  Zoe  ; 
so  she  fixed  her  eyes  u|)on  Sevei"ne, 
and  said,  "You  forget   the  principal 


figure — a  mysterious  young  gentleman 
who  looks  nineteen,  and  is  tweniy- 
nine,  and  was  lost  sight  of  in  England 
nine  years  ago.  He  has  been  travel- 
ing ever  since,  and  wherever  he  went 
he  flirted ;  we  gather  so  much  from 
his  accomplishment  in  the  art ;  fluent, 
not  to  say  voluble  at  times,  but  no 
egotist ;  for  he  never  tells  you  any 
thing  about  himself,  nor  even  about  his 
family,  still  less  about  the  numerous 
affaires  de  cveur  in  which  he  has  been 
engaged.  Perhaps  he  is  reserving  it 
all  for  the  third  volume." 

The  attack  was  strong  and  sudden, 
but  it  failed.  Severne,  within  the  lim- 
its of  his  experience,  was  a  consum- 
mate artist,  and  this  situation  was  not 
new  to  him.  He  cast  one  gently  re- 
proachfid  glance  on  her,  then  lowered 
liis  eyes  to  the  carpet,  and  kept  them 
there.  "  Do  you  think,"  said  he,  in  a 
low,  dejected  voice,  "  it  can  be  any 
pleasure  to  a  man  to  relate  the  follies 
of  an  idle,  aindess  life?  and  to  you, 
who  have  given  me  higher  aspirations, 
and  made  me  awfully  sorry,  I  can  not 
live  my  whole  life  over  again.  I  can't 
bear  to  think  of  the  years  I  have 
wasted,"  said  he;  "and  how  can  I 
talk  to  you,  whom  I  reverence,  of  the 
past  follies  I  despise  ?  No,  pray  don't 
ask  me  to  risk  your  esteem.  It  is  so 
denr  in  me." 

'J'lien  this  artist  put  in  practice  a 
little  n)ancEuvre  he  had  learned  of 
comjjressing  his  muscles  and  forcing 
a  little  unwilling  water  into  his  eyes. 
So,  at  the  end  of  his  pretty  little 
speech,  he  raised  two  gentle,  inijiloring 
eves,  with  half  a  tear  in  each  of  them. 
To  be  sure,  Nature  assisted  his  art  for 
once ;  he  did  bitteily  regret,  but  out 
of  pure  egotism,  the  years  he  had 
wasted,  and  wished  with  all  his  heart 
he  had  never  known  any  won)an  but 
Zoe  Vizard. 

The  combination  of  art  and  sincer- 
ity was  too  Huich  for  the  guileless  aiul 
inovperienced  Zoe.  She  was  grieved 
at  the  jiain  she  had  given,  and  rose  to 
retire,  for  she  felt  they  were  both  on 
dangerous  ground ;  but,  as  she  turned 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


17 


away,  she  maJe  a  little,  deprecating 
gesture,  and  said, softly,  "Forgive  me." 

That  soft  tone  gave  Severne  courage, 
and  that  gesture  gave  him  an  opportu- 
nity. He  seized  her  hand,  murmured, 
"Angel  of  goodness!"  and  bestowed 
a  long,  loving  kiss  on  her  hand  that 
made  it  quiver  under  his  lips. 

"Oh!"  cried  Miss  Maitland,  burst- 
ing into  the  room  at  the  nick  of  time, 
yet  feigning  amazement. 

Fanny  heard  the  ejaculations,  and 
whipped  away  from  Harrington  into 
the  window.  Zoe,  with  no  motive  but 
her  own  coyness,  had  already  snatched 
her  hand  away  from  Severne. 

But  both  young  ladies  were  one  mo- 
ment too  late.  Tlie  eagle  eye  of  a 
terrible  old  maid  had  embraced  the 
entire  situation,  and  they  saw  it  had. 

Harrington  Vizard,  Esq.,  smoked 
on,  with  his  back  to  the  group.  But 
the  rest  were  a  picture^the  mutinous 
face  and  keen  eyes  of  Fanny  Dover, 
bristling  with  defense,  at  the  window  ; 
Zoe  blusliiiig  crimson,  and  newly  start- 
ed away  from  Iier  too  -  enterprising 
wooer;  and  the  tall,  thin,  grim  old 
maid,  standing  stiff,  as  sentinel,  at  the 
bedroom  door,  and  gimleting  both  her 
charges  alternately  with  steel  -  gray 
orbs  ;  she  seemed  like  an  owl,  all  eyes 
and  beak. 

When  the  chaperon  had  fixed  the 
situation  thorougldy,  she  stalked  erect 
into  the  room,  and  said,  very  express- 
ively, "  I  am  afraitl  I  disturb  you." 

Zoe,  fioin  crimson,  blushed  scarlet, 
and  hung  lier  liead ;  but  Fanny  was 
ready. 

"La!  aunt,"  said  she,  ironically, 
and  with  pertness  infinite,  "you  know 
you  are  always  welcome.  Where  ever 
have  you  been  all  tliis  time?  We 
were  afraid  we  Iiad  lost  you." 

Aunt  fired  her  pistol  in  reply  :  "  I 
was  not  far  off — most  fortunately." 

Zoe,  finding  that,  even  mider  crush- 
ing circumstances,  Fanny  had  fight  in 
her,  glided  instantly  to  her  side,  and 
Aunt  Maitland  o])ened  battle  all  round. 

"May  I  ask,  sir," said  she  to  Sev- 


erne, with  a  horrible  smile,  "what  you 
were  doing  when  I  came  in  ?" 

Zoe  clutched  Fatmy,  and  both  await- 
ed Mr.  Severne's  reply  for  one  moment 
with  keen  anxiety. 

"My  dear  Miss  Maitland,"  said 
that  able  young  man,  very  respectfully, 
yet  with  a  sort  of  cheerful  readiness, 
as  if  he  were  delighted  at  her  deigning 
to  question  him,  "  to  tell  you  the  truth, 
I  was  admiring  Miss  Vizard's  diamond 
ring." 

Faimy  tittered  ;  Zoe  blushed  again 
at  such  a  fib  and  such  aplomb. 

"  Oh,  indeed,"  said  Miss  Maitland  ; 
"you  were  admiring  it  very  close,  sir." 

"It  is  like  herself — it  will  bear  in- 
spection." 

This  was  wormwood  to  Miss  Mait- 
land. "Even  in  our  ashes  live  their 
wonted  fires  ;"  and,  though  she  was 
sixty,  she  disliked  to  hear  a  young 
woman  praised.  She  bridled,  then  re- 
turned to  the  attack. 

"Next  time  you  wish  to  inspect  it, 
you  had  better  ask  her  to  take  it  off, 
and  show  you." 

"May  i,  Miss  Maitland?"  inquired 
the  ingenuous  youth.  "She  would 
not  think  that  a  liberty?" 

His  mild  eftrontery  staggered  her 
for  a  moment,  and  she  glared  at  him, 
speechless,  but  soon  recovered,  and 
said,  bitterly,  "  Evidetitly  mo^"  With 
this  she  turned  her  back  on  him  rather 
ungraciously,  and  opened  fire  on  her 
own  sex. 

"Zoe!"  (sharply). 

"Yes,  aunt "  (faintly). 

"Tell  your  brother^if  he  can  leave 
off  smoking — I  wish  to  speak  to  him." 

Zoe  hung  her  head,  and  was  in  no 
hurry  to  bring  about  the  proposed  con- 
ference. 

While  she  deliberated,  says  Fan- 
ny, with  vast  alacrity,  "  Fll  tell  him, 
aunt." 

"Oh,  Fanny  !"  murmured  Zoe,  in  a 
reproachful  wliisper. 

"All  right !"  whispered  Fanny  iu 
reply,  and  whipped  out  on  to  tlie  bal- 
cony. "  Heres  Aunt  Maitland  wants 
to  know  il'yoii  ever  leave  off  smoking;" 


18 


A  WOMAN-HATKK. 


and  slie  threw  a  most  aggressive  man- 
ner into  the  query. 

The  big  man  replied,  composedly, 
"Tell  her  I  do — at  meals  and  prayers  ; 
but  I  always  sleep  with  a  pipe  in  my 
mouth — heavily  insured  I" 

"  Well,  then,  you  mustn't;  for  she 
has  something  very  particular  to  say 
to  you  wlicn  you've  done  smoking." 

"Something  particular!  That 
means  something  disagreeable.  Tell 
Iter  I  shall  be  smoking  all  day  to-day." 

Fanny  danced  into  the  room  and 
said,  "  He  says  he  shall  be  smoking 
all  day,  under  the  circumstances." 

Miss  Maitland  gave  this  faithful 
messenger  the  look  of  a  basilisk,  and 
flounced  to  her  own  room.  The  3'oung 
ladies  instantly  stepped  out  on  the 
t)alcony,  and  got  one  on  each  side  of 
Harrington,  witti  tlie  feminine  instinct 
of  propitiation  ;  for  they  felt  sure  the 
enemy  would  tell,  soon  or  late. 

"What  does  the  old  cat  want  to 
talk  to  me  about?"  said  Harrington, 
lazily,  to  Fanny. 

It  was  Zoe  who  replied, 

"Can't  you  guess,  dear?" said  she, 
tenderly — "our  tnisconduct."  Then 
she  put  her  head  on  his  shoulder,  as 
much  as  to  say,  "  But  we  have  a  more 
lenient  judge  here." 

"As  if  1  could  not  see  that  without 
her  assistance  I  "said  Harrington  Viz- 
ard. (Putf!)  At  wliich  comfoi-table 
rejjly  Zoe  looked  very  rueful,  and  Fan- 
ny burst  out  laughing. 

Soon  after  this  Fanny  gave  Zoe  a 
look,  and  they  retired  to  their  rooms ; 
and  Zoe  said  she  would  never  come 
out  again,  and  Fannv  must  stay  with 
her.  Fanny  felt  sure  ennui  would 
tliaw  that  resolve  in  a  few  hours;  so 
she  submitted,  but  declared  it  was  ab- 
sind,  and  the  very  way  to  give  a  per- 
fect trifle  importance. 

"  Kiss  your  hand  !"said  she.  disdain- 
fidly — "  that  is  nothing.  If  I  was  the 
man,  I'd  have  kissed  both  your  cheeks 
long  before  this." 

"And  I  should  have  boxed  your 
ears  and  made  you  cry,"  said  Zoe,  with 
calm  superiority. 


So  she  had  her  way,  and  the  desert- 
ed Severne  fdt  dull,  but  was  too  good 
a  general  to  show  it.  He  bestowed  his 
welcome  company  on  ^Ir.  Vizard,  walk- 
ed with  him,  talked  with  him,  and 
made  himself  so  agreeable,  that  Viz- 
ard, wiio  admired  him  greally,  said  to 
him,  "What  a  good  fellow  you  are,  to 
bestow  your  sunshine  on  me.  I  began 
to  be  afraid  those  girls  had  got  you, 
and  tied  you  to  their  apron-strings  al- 
together." 

"Oh  no !"  said  Severne :  "  they  are 
chanming ;  but.  after  all,  one  can't  do 
without  a  male  friend :  there  are  so 
few  things  that  interest  ladies.  Un- 
less you  can  talk  red-hot  religion,  you 
are  bound  to  flirt  with  them  a  little. 
To  be  sure,  they  look  shy,  if  you  do, 
but  if  you  don't — " 

"They  are  bored;  whereas  they 
only  looked  shy.  I  know  'em.  Call 
another  sul)ject,  please." 

"  Well,  I  will;  but  perhaps  it  may 
not  be  so  agreeable  a  one." 

"That  is  very  unlikely,"  said  the 
woman-hater,  dryly. 

"  Well,  it  is  Tin"  I'm  rather  short. 
You  see,  when  I  fell  in  with  you  at 
Monaco,  I  had  no  idea  of  coming  this 
way  ;  but  meeting  with  an  old  college 
friend — what  a  tie  college  is,  isn't  it? 
There  is  nothing  like  it ;  when  you  have 
been  at  college  with  a  man,  you  seem 
never  to  wear  him  out,  as  you  do  the 
acquaintances  you  make  afterward." 

"  That  is  very  true,''  said  Vizard, 
warmly. 

"  Isn't  it?  Now,  for  instance,  if  I 
had  only  known  you  of  late  years,  I 
shoidd  feed  awfully  shy  of  borrowing  a 
few  hundreds  of  vou — for  a  month  or 
two." 

"  I  don't  know  whv  vou  should,  old 
fellow." 

"  I  should,  though.  But  having 
been  at  college  together  makes  all  the 
difference.  I  don't  mind  telling  you 
that  I  have  never  been  at  Homburg 
without  taking  a  turn  at  the  table,  and 
I  am  grizzling  awfully  now  at  not  hav- 
ing sent  to  mv  man  of  business  for 
funds." 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


19 


' '  How  much  do  you  want  ?  That  is 
the  only  question." 

"Glad  to  hear  it,"  thought  Severne. 
"Well,  let  me  see,  you  can't  back  your 
luck  with  less  than  five  hundred." 

"Well,  but  we  have  been  out  two 
months;  I  am  afraid  I  haven't  so 
much  left.  Just  let  me  see."  He  took 
out  his  pocket-book,  and  examined  his 
letter  of  credit.  "  Do  you  want  it  to- 
day ? ' 

■"Why,  yes;  I  do." 
"Weil,  then,  I  am  afraid  you  can 
only  have  three  hundred.     But  I  will 
telegra])!!  Herries,  and  funds  will  be 
here  to-morrow  afternoon." 
"All  right,"  said  Severne. 
Vizard  took  him  to  the  bank,  and 
exhausted  his  letter  of  ciedit :   then  to 
the  telegraph  -  office,  and  telegraphed 
Herries  to  enlarge  his  credit  at  once. 
He  handed  Severne  the  three  hundred 
pounds.     The  young  man's  eye  flash- 
ed, and  it  cost  him  an  effort  not  to 
snatch  tiiem  and  wave  them  over  his 
head  with  joy :  but  he  controlled  him- 
self, and  took  them  like  twopence-half- 
penny.      "Thank    you,   old    fellow," 
said  he.     Then,  still  more  carelessly, 
"Like  my  I  ()  U  ?" 

"As  you  please,"  said  Vizard,  with 
similar  indift'erence;  only  real. 

After  he  had  got  the  money,  Sev- 
erne's  conversational  powers  relaxed 
— short  answers — long  reveries. 

Vizard  observed,  stojjped  short,  and 
eyed  him.  "  I  remember  something 
at  Oxford,  and  I  am  afraid  you  are  a 
gambler ;  if  you  are,  yon  won't  be  good 
for  much  till  you  have  lost  that  three 
hundred.  It  will  be  a  dull  evening 
for  me  without  you  :  I  know  what  111 
do — I'll  take  my  hon-party  to  tiie  o])- 
era  at  Homburg.  Tliere  are  stalls  to 
be  got  here.  Ill  get  one  for  you,  on 
the  chance  of  your  dropping  in." 

The  stalls  were  pmchased,  and  the 
friends  returned  at  once  to  the  hotel, 
to  give  the  hulios  timely  intimation. 
They  found  Fanny  and  Zoe  seated, 
rather  disconsolate,  in  the  apartment 
Zoe  had  formally  renounced:  at  sight 
of  the  stall  tickets,  the  pair  uttered  joy- 


ful cries,  looked  at  each   other,  and 
vanished. 

"  You  won't  see  them  any  more  till 
dinner-time,"  said  Vizard.  "They 
will  be  discussing  dress,  selecting  dress, 
trying  dresses,  and  changing  dresses, 
for  the  next  three  hours."  He  turned 
round  while  speaking,  and  there  was 
Severne  slipping  away  to  his  own  bed- 
room. 

Thus  deserted  on  all  sides,  he  step- 
ped into  the  balcony  and  lighted  a  ci- 
gar. While  he  was  smoking  it,  he  ob- 
served an  English  gentleman,  with  a 
stalwart  figure  and  a  beautiful  brown 
beard,  standing  on  the  steps  of  the  ho- 
tel. "Halloo!"  said  he.  and  haihd 
him.      "Hi,  Uxmoor!  is  that  you?" 

Lord  Uxmoor  looked  up,  and  knew 
him.  He  entered  the  hotel,  and  the 
next  minute  the  waiter  ushered  him 
into  Vizard's  sitting-room. 

Lord  Uxmoor,  like  Mr.  Vizard,  was 
a  landed  proprietor  in  Barfijrdshire. 
The  county  is  large,  and  they  lived  too 
many  miles  apart  to  visit ;  but  they 
met,  and  agreed,  at  elections  and 
comity  business,  and  had  a  respect  for 
each  other. 

Meeting  at  Frankfort,  these  two 
found  plenty  to  say  to  each  other 
about  home ;  and  as  Lord  Uxmoor 
was  alone.  Vizard  asked  him  to  dine. 
"You  will  balance  us,"  said  he:  "  we 
are  terribly  overpetticoated,  and  one 
of  them  is  an  old  maid.  We  generally 
dine  at  tlie  tahle-d'hdte,  but  I  have  or- 
dered dinner  here  to-day  :  we  are  go- 
ing to  the  opera  at  Hombm-g.  You 
ai'e  not  obliged  to  do  that,  you  know. 
You  are  in  for  a  bad  dinner,  that  is 
all." 

"To  tell  the  truth,"  said  Lord  Ux- 
moor, "I  don't  care  for  music." 

"Then  you  deserve  a  statue  for  not 
pretending  to  love  it.  I  adore  it,  for 
my  part,  and  I  wish  I  was  going  alone, 
for  mv  hens  will  be  siu'e  to  cackle  mnl 
a  propos.  and  spoil  s(^me  famous  melo- 
dy with  talking  about  it,  and  who  sung 
it  in  Londini,  instead  of  listening  to 
it,  and  thanking  God  for  it  in  deep 
silence." 


20 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


Lord  Uxmoor  stared  a  little  at  this 
sudden  sally,  for  he  was  unacquainted 
witli  Vizard's  one  eccentricity,  having 
met  iiim  only  on  county  business,  at 
which  he  was  extra  rational,  and  pass- 
ed for  a  great  scholar.  He  really  did 
suck  good  books  as  well  as  cigars. 

After  a  few  more  words,  they  parted 
till  dinner-time. 

Lord  Uxmoor  came  to  his  appoint- 
ment, and  found  his  host  and  Miss 
Maitland,  whom  he  knew ;  and  he 
was  in  languid  conversation  with  tiiem, 
when  a  side-door  opened,  and  in  walk- 
ed Fanny  Dover,  fair  and  bright,  in 
Cambridge  l)lue,  her  hair  well  dressed 
by  Zoe's  maid  in  the  style  of  the  day. 
Lord  Uxmoor  rose,  and  received  his 
fair  country  -  woman  with  respectful 
zeal ;  he  had  met  her  once  before. 
ahe,  too,  sparkled  with  jileasure  at 
meeting  a  Barfordshire  stjuire  with  a 
long  petligree,  purse,  and  beard — three 
things  she  admired  greatly. 

In  the  midst  of  this,  in  glided  Zoe, 
and  seemed  to  extinguish  every  body, 
and  even  to  pale  the  lights,  with  her 
dark  yet  sun  -  like  beauty.  She  was 
dressed  in  a  creamy-white  satin  that 
glinted  like  mother-of-pearl,  its  sheen 
and  glory  unfrittered  with  a  single  id- 
iotic trimming;  on  iier  breast  a  large 
diamond  cross.  Her  head  was  an 
Athenian  sculpture — no  chignon,  but 
the  tight  coils  of  antiquity  ;  at  their 
side,  one  diamond  star  sparkled  vivid 
flame,  by  its  contrast  with  those  pol- 
ished ebon  snakes. 

Lord  Uxmoor  was  dazzled,  trans- 
fixed, at  the  vision,  and  bowed  very 
low  when  Vizard  introduced  iiim  in 
an  oflt-hand  way,  saying,  "My  sister. 
Miss  Vizard  ;  but  I  dare  say  you  have 
met  her  at  the  county  balls." 

"  I  have  never  been  so  fortunate," 
said  Uxmoor,  humbly. 

"  I  liave,"  said  Zoe  ;  "  that  is,  I  saw 
you  waltzing  witii  Lady  Betty  Gore  at 
the  race  ball,  two  vears  ago." 

"What!"  said'  Vizard,  alarmed. 
"Uxmoor,  were  vou  waltzing  with 
Lady  Betty  Gore  ?" 


"You  have  it  on  too  high  an  au- 
thority for  me  to  contradict." 

Finding  Zoe  was  to  be  trusted  as  a 
county  chronicle,  Vizard  turned  sharp- 
ly to  her,  and  said,  "And  was  he  flirt- 
ing with  her?" 

Zoe  colored  a  little,  and  said,  "  Now, 
Harrington,  how  can  I  tell  ?  ' 

"You  little  hypocrite,"  said  Vizard, 
"who  can  tell  better?" 

At  this  retort  Zoe  blushed  high,  and 
the  water  came  into  her  eyes. 

Nobody  minded  that  but  Uxmoor, 
and  Vizard  went  on  to  explain,  "That 
Lady  Betty  Gore  is  as  heartless  a  co- 
quette as  any  in  the  county ;  and 
don't  you  flirt  with  her,  or  you  will 
get  entangled." 

"You  disai)prove  her,"  said  Ux- 
moor, coolly  ;  "  then  I  give  her  up  for- 
ever." He  looked  at  Zoe  while  he 
said  this,  and  felt  how  easy  it  would  be 
to  resign  Lady  Betty  and  a  great  many 
more  for  this  peerless  creature.  He 
did  not  mean  her  to  understand  what 
was  passing  in  his  mind ;  he  did  not 
know  how  subtle  and  observant  the 
most  innocent  girl  is  in  such  matters. 
Zoe  blushed,  and  drew  away  from  him. 
Just  then  Ned  Severne  came  in,  and 
Vizard  introduced  him  to  Uxmoor 
with  great  geniality  and  pride.  The 
charming  young  man  was  in  a  black 
surtout,  witii  a  blue  scarf,  the  very  tint 
for  his  complexion. 

The  girls  looked  at  one  another,  and 
in  a  moment  Fanny  was  elected  Zoe's 
agent.  She  signaled  Severne,  and 
when  he  came  to  her  she  said,  for  Zoe, 
"Don't  you  know  we  are  going  to  the 
opera  at  Hotnburg?" 

"Yes,  I  know,"  said  he,  "and  I 
hope  you  will  have  a  pleasanter  even- 
ing than  I  shall." 

"  You  are  not  coming  with  us?" 

"No,"  said  he,  sorrowfully. 

"You  had  better,"  said  Fanny, 
with  a  deal  (jf  (piiet  point,  more,  in- 
deed, than  Zoe's  pride  approved. 

"  Not  if  Mr.  Severne  has  something 
more  attractive,"  said  she,  turning 
palish  and  j)inkish  by  turns. 

All  this  went  on  sottu  voce,  and  Ux- 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


21 


moor,  out  of  good -breeding,  entered 
into  conversation  with  Miss  Maitland 
and  Vizard.  Severne  availed  himself 
of  this  diversion,  and  fixed  his  eyes  on 
Zoe  with  an  air  of  gentle  reproach,  then 
took  a  letter  out  of  his  pocket,  and 
handed  it  to  Fanny.  She  read  it,  and 
gave  it  to  Zoe. 

It  was  dated  from  "The  Golden 
Star,"Homburg. 

"Dear  Ned, — I  am  worse  to-day, 
and  all  alone.  Now  and  then  I  almost 
fear  I  may  not  pull  through.  But 
perhaps  that  is  through  being  so  hip- 
ped. Do  come  and  spend  this  evening 
with  me  like  a  good,  kind  fellow. 

"Telegraph  reply.  S.  T." 

"Poor  fellow,"  said  Ned;  "my 
heart  bleeds  for  him." 

Zoe  was  aflected  by  this,  and  turn- 
ed liquid  and  loving  eyes  on  "dear 
Ned."  But  Fanny  stood  her  ground. 
"Go  to  'S.  T.'  to-morrow  morning, 
but  don't  desert  '  Z.  V.'  and  'F.  D.' 
to-night."     Zoe  smiled. 

"But  I  have  telegraphed!"  object- 
ed Ned. 

"  Then  telegraph  again — not"  said 
Fanny,  firmly. 

Now,  this  was  unexpected.  Severne 
had  set  his  heart  upon  rouge  et  noir, 
but  still  he  was  afraid  of  offending 
Zoe ;  and,  besides,  he  saw  Uxmoor, 
with  his  noble  beard  and  brown  eyes, 
casting  rapturous  glances  at  her. 
"Let  Miss  Vizard  decide,"  said  he. 
"  Don't  let  me  be  so  unhappy  as  to 
oftend  her  twice  in  one  day." 

Zoe's  pride  and  goodness  dictated 
her  answer,  in  spite  of  her  wishes. 
She  said,  in  a  low  voice,  "  Go  to  your 
sick  friend." 

"  There,"  said  Severne. 

"1  hear,"  said  Fanny.  "  She  means 
'go;'  but  you  shall  repent  it." 

"I  mean  what  I  say,"  said  Zoe, 
with  real  dignity.  "  It  is  my  iiabit." 
And  the  next  moment  she  quietly  left 
the  room. 

Siie  sat  down  in  her  bedroom,  mor- 
tified and  alarmed.     What !    Had  it 


come  to  this,  that  she  felt  her  heart 
turn  cold  just  because  that  young  man 
said  he  could  not  accompany  her — on 
a  single  evening !  Then  first  she  dis- 
covered that  it  was  for  him  she  had 
dressed,  and  had,  for  once,  beautified 
her  beauty — for  him ;  that  witli  Fanny 
she  had  dwelt  upon  the  delights  of 
the  music,  but  had  secretly  thought  of 
appearing  publicly  on  his  arm,  and 
dazzling  people  by  their  united  and 
contrasted  beauty. 

She  rose,  all  of  a  sudden,  and  look- 
ed keeidy  at  herself  in  the  glass,  to 
see  if  she  had  not  somehow  overrated 
her  attractions.  But  the  glass  was  re- 
assuring. It  told  her  not  one  man  in 
a  million  could  go  to  a  sick  friend 
that  night,  when  he  might  pass  the 
evening  by  her  side,  and  visit  his 
fiiend  early  in  the  morning.  Best 
loved  is  best  served.  Tears  of  morti- 
fied vanity  were  in  her  eyes ;  but  she 
smiled  through  them  at  the  glass ; 
then  dried  them  carefully,  and  went 
back  to  the  dining-room  radiant,  to 
all  appearance. 

Dinner  was  just  served,  and  her 
brother,  to  do  honor  to  the  new- 
comer, waved  his  sister  to  a  seat  by 
Lord  Uxmoor.  He  looked  charmed 
at  the  arrangement,  and  showed  a 
great  desire  to  please  her,  but  at  first 
was  unable  to  find  good  topics.  After 
several  timid  overtures  on  his  part, 
she  assisted  him,  out  of  good-natui'e. 
She  knew  by  re})ort  that  he  was  a 
very  benevolent  young  man,  bent  on 
improving  the  home,  habits,  wages,  and 
comforts  of  the  agricultural  poor.  She 
led  him  to  this,  and  his  eyes  s])arkled 
with  pleasure,  a)id  his  homely  but 
manly  face  lighted,  and  was  elevated 
by  the  symjjathy  she  expressed  in 
these  worthy  objects.  He  could  not 
help  thinking,  "  What  a  Lady  Ux- 
moor this  would  make !  She  and  I 
and  her  brother  might  leaven  the 
county." 

And  all  this  time  she  would  not 
even  bestow  a  glance  on  Severne. 
She  was  not  an  angel.  She  had  said, 
"Go  to  your  sick  friend;"  but  she 


22 


A  WUMAN-IIATEK. 


had  not  said,  "I  will  smart  alone  if 
you  do." 

Severne  sat  I)y  Fanny,  and  seem- 
ed dejected,  but,  as  usual,  ])olite  and 
cliarniing.  She  was  smilingly  cruel  ; 
regaled  him  with  Lord  Uxmoor's 
wealtli  and  virtues,  and  said  he  was 
an  excellent  match,  and  all  she-Bar- 
t'ordshire  pulling  caps  for  him.  Sev- 
erne  only  sighed  ;  he  offered  no  resist- 
ance ;  and  at  last  she  could  not  go  on 
nagging  a  handsome  fellow,  who  only 
sigiied,  so  she  said,  "Well,  there;  I 
advise  you  to  join  us  before  the  opera 
is  over,  that  is  ail." 

'"I  will,  I  will!"  said  he,  eagerly. 
"Oh,  thank  you." 

Dinner  was  disjjatched  rather  rap- 
idly, because  of  the  opera. 

When  the  ladies  got  their  cloaks 
and  lace  scarfs,  to  put  over  their 
heads  coining  home,  the  party  proved 
to  be  only  three,  and  the  tickets  five  ; 
for  Miss  Maitland  pleaded  headache. 

On  this.  Lord  Uxmoor  said,  rather 
timidly,  he  should  like  to  go. 

"Why,  you  said  you  hated  music," 
said  Vizard. 

I^ord  Uxmoor  colored.  "  I  recant," 
said  he,  bluntly;  and  every  body  saw 
what  had  operated  his  conversion. 
That  is  a  pun. 

It  is  half  an  hour,  by  rail,  from 
Frankfort  to  Ilombiu-g.  and  the  party 
could  not  be  seated  together.  Vizard 
bestowed  Zoe  and  Loid  Uxmoor  in 
one  cairiage,  Fanny  and  Severne  in 
another,  and  himself  and  a  cigar  in  a 
third.  Severne  sat  gazing  piteously  on 
Fanny  Dover,  but  never  said  a  word. 
She  sat  and  eyed  him  satirically  for  a 
•good  while,  and  then  she  said,  cheer- 
fidly,  "Well,  Mr.  Severne.  how  do  you 
like  the  turn  things  are  taking?" 

"  Miss  Dover,  I  am  very  unhappy." 

"  Serves  you  right." 

"Oh,  pray  don't  say  that.  It  is  on 
you  I  depend." 

"On  me,  sir!  What  have  I  to  do 
with  your  flirtations  ?" 

"No;  but  you  are  so  clever,  and 
so  good.  If  for  once  you  will  take  a 
poor  fellow's  part  with  Miss  Vizard, 


behind  my  back ;  oh,  please  do — prav 
do,"  and,  in  the  ardor  of  entreaty,  lie 
caught  Fanny's  white  hand  and  kissed 
it  with  warm  but  respectful  devotiou. 
Indeed,  he  held  it  and  kissed  it  again 
and  again,  till  Fanny,  though  she 
minded  it  no  more  than  marble,  was 
going  to  ask  him  satirically  whether 
he  had  not  almost  done  with  it,  when 
at  last  he  contrived  to  squeeze  out 
one  of  his  little  hysterical  tears,  and 
dro])  it  on  her  hand. 

Now,  the  girl  was  not  butter,  like 
some  of  her  sex  ;  far  from  it :  but 
neither  w.as  she  wood  —  indeed,  she 
was  not  old  enough  for  that  —  so  this 
crocodile  tear  won  her  for  the  time 
being.  "There  —  there,"  said  she; 
"don't  be  a  baby.  I'll  be  on  your 
side  to-night;  only,  if  you  care  for 
her,  come  and  look  after  her  yourself. 
Beautiful  women  with  money  won't 
stand  neglect,  Mr.  Severne  ;  and  wliy 
should  they  ?  They  are  not  like  poor 
me  ;  they  have  got  the  game  iu  their 
hands."  The  train  stojiped.  Vizard's 
party  drove  to  the  opera,  and  Severne 
ordered  a  cab  to  The  Golden  Star, 
meaning  to  stop  it  and  get  out  ;  but, 
looking  at  his  watch,  he  found  it  want- 
ed half  an  hour  to  gambling  time,  so 
he  settled  to  have  a  cup  of  coffee  first, 
and  a  cigar.  With  this  view  he  let  the 
man  drive  him  to  The  Golden  Star. 


CHAPTER  III. 

Ina  Ki.osKisr,  worked  niglit  and 
day  upon  Siebel,  in  Gounod's  "  Faust," 
and  upon  the  songs  that  had  been  add- 
ed to  give  weight  to  the  part. 

She  came  early  to  the  theatre  at 
night,  and  sat,  half  dressed,  fatigued, 
and  nervous,  in  her  dressing-room. 

Crash! — the  first  coup  d'arcliet  an- 
nounced the  overture,  and  roused  her 
energy,  as  if  Ithuriel's  spear  had  prick- 
ed her.  She  came  down  dressed,  to 
listen  at  one  of  the  upper  entrances,  to 
!  fill  herself  with  the  musical  theme,  be- 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


2:) 


fore  taking  her  part  in  it,  and  also  to 
gauge  the  audience  and  the  singers. 

The  man  Faust  was  a  German  ;  but 
the  musical  part  Faust  seems  better 
suited  to  an  Italian  or  a  Frenchman. 
Indeed,  some  say  that,  as  a  rule,  the 
German  genius  excels  in  creation,  and 
tiie  Italian  in  representation  or  inter- 
pretation. For  my  part,  I  am  unable 
to  judge  nations  in  the  lump,  as  some 
fine  fellows  do,  because  nations  are 
composed  of  very  different  individu- 
als, and  I  know  only  one  to  the  mill- 
ion ;  but  I  do  take  on  me  to  say  that 
the  individual  Herr  who  executed  Doc- 
tor Faustus  at  Homburg  that  night 
had  every  thing  to  learn,  except  what 
he  had  to  uidearn.  His  person  was 
obese ;  his  delivery  of  the  words  was 
mouthing,  chewing,  and  gurgling;  and 
he  uttered  the  notes  in  tune,  but  with- 
out point,  pathos,  or  passion  ;  a  steady 
lay-clerk  from  York  or  Durham  Ca- 
thedral would  have  done  a  little  better, 
because  he  would  have  been  no  colder 
at  heart,  and  more  exact  in  time,  and 
would  have  sung  clean  ;  whereas  tins 
gentleman  set  his  windpijje  trembling, 
all  through  the  business,  as  if  palsy 
were  passion.  By  what  system  of  lev- 
erage such  a  man  came  to  be  hoist- 
ed on  to  such  a  pinnacle  of  song  as 
"  Faust  "  puzzled  our  English  friends 
in  front  as  much  as  it  did  the  Anglo- 
Danish  artist  at  the  wing ;  for  English 
girls  know  what  is  what  in  opera. 

The  Marguerite  had  a  voice  of 
sufficient  compass,  and  rather  sweet, 
tiiough  thin.  The  jtart  demands  a 
better  actress  than  Patti,  and  this 
Fraidein  was  not  half  as  good :  she 
put  on  thepainfid  grin  of  a  prize-tight- 
er who  has  received  a  staggerer,  and 
grimied  all  through  the  part,  though 
there  is  little  in  it  to  grin  at. 

She  also  suffered  by  having  to  jday 
to  a  Faust  milked  of  his  poetry,  and 
self-  smitten  with  a  tremolo  which, 
as  I  said  before,  is  the  voice  of  palsy, 
and  is  not,  nor  ever  was,  nor  ever 
will  be,  the  voice  of  passion.  Bless 
your  heart,  passion  is  a  manly  thing, 
a  womanly  tiling,  a  grand  thing,  not  a 


feeble,  quavering,  palsied,  anile,  senile 
thing.  Learn  that,  ye  trembling,  qua- 
vering idiots  of  song! 

"They  let  me  down,"  whispered 
Ina  Kloskingto  her  faithful  Ashmead. 
"I  feel  all  out  of  tune.  I  shall  never 
be  able.  And  the  audience  so  cold. 
It  will  be  like  singing  in  a  sepulchre." 

"What  would  you  think  of  them, 
if  they  applauded  ?"  said  Ashmead. 

"  I  should  say  they  were  good,  char- 
itable soids,  and  the  very  audience  I 
shall  want  in  five  minutes." 

"No,  no,"  said  Ashmead,  "  all  you 
want  is  a  discrimitiating  audience; 
and  this  is  one.  Remember  they  have 
all  seen  Fatti  in  Marguerite.  Is  it 
likely  they  would  ajjplaud  this  tin 
stick?" 

Ina  turned  the  conversation  with 
feminine  quickness.  "Mr.  Ashmead, 
have  you  kept  your  promise ;  my  name 
is  not  in  the  programme?" 

"  It  is  not ;  and  a  great  mistake 
too." 

"  I  have  not  been  annoimced  by 
name  in  any  way  ?" 

"  No.  But,  of  course,  I  have  nursed 
you  a  bit." 

"Nursed  me?  What  is  that? 
Oh,  what  have  you  been  doing?  No 
c/iarl(tlaiierie,  I  hope." 

"Nothing  of  the  kind,"  said  Ash- 
mead, stoutly ;  "only  the  regular  bus- 
iness." 

"  And  pray  what  is  the  regular  bus- 
iness?" inquired  Ina,  distrustfully. 

"Why,  of  course,  I  sent  on  the 
manager  to  say  that  Mademoiselle 
Schwaub  had  been  taken  seriously  ill ; 
that  we  had  been  fearing  we  must 
break  faith  with  the  public  for  the  first 
time;  but  that  a  cantatrice,  who  had 
left  the  stage,  apjireciating  our  difticul- 
ty,  had,  with  rare  kindness,  come  to  our 
aid  for  this  one  night:  we  felt  sine  a 
Humbug atulience — what  am  I  saying? 
— a  Homburg  atulience  would  appreci- 
ate this,  and  make  due  allowance  for 
a  performance  imdertaken  in  such  a 
spirit,  and  with  im))erfect  rehearsals, 
etc. — in  short,  the  usual  patter;  and 
the  usual  etlect,  great  applause.     In- 


2i 


A  WOMAN-IIATEIJ. 


deed,  the  only  applause  that  I  liave 
lieavd  in  tliis  flieatre  to-ni^lit.  Ash- 
inead  ahead  of  (iounod,  so  t'ur. " 

lua  Klosking  put  both  iiands  before 
her  face,  and  uttered  a.  little  moan. 
She  had  really  a  soid  above  these  arti- 
fices. "So,  then,"  said  she,  "if  tiiey 
do  receive  me,  it  will  be  out  of  chari- 

ty." 

"  No,  no ;  but  on  your  first  night 
you  must  have  two  strings  to  your 
bow." 

"But  I  have  only  one.  These  ca- 
joling speeches  are  a  waste  of  breath. 
A  singer  can  sing,  or  she  can  not  sing, 
and  they  find  out  which  it  is  as  soon 
as  she  opens  her  mouth." 

"Well,  then,  you  open  your  mouth 
— that  is  just  what  half  the  singers 
can't  do — and  they  will  soon  find  out 
you  can  sing." 

"  I  hope  they  may.  I  do  not  know. 
I  am  discouraged.  I'm  terrified.  I 
think  it  is  stage-fiight,"  and  she  began 
to  tremble  visibly,  for  the  time  drew 
near. 

Ashmead  ran  ofl^,  and  brought  her 
some  brandy-and-water.  She  put  up 
her  hand  against  it  with  royal  scorn. 
"No,  sir!  If  the  theatre,  and  the 
lights,  and  the  ])eople,  the  mind  of 
Goethe,  and  the  music  of  Gounod, 
can't  excite  me  without  that.  j)iu  me 
at  the  counter  of  a  cafe,  for  I  have  no 
business  here." 

The  power,  without  violence,  and 
the  grandeur  with  which  she  said  this 
would  have  brought  down  the  house 
liad  she  spoken  it  in  a  pla}'  without 
a  note  of  ninsi(r ;  and  Ashmead  drew 
back  respectfully,  but  chuckled  inter- 
nally at  the  idea  of  this  Minerva  giv- 
ing change  in  a  cafe. 

And  now  her  cue  was  coming.  She 
ordered  every  body  out  of  the  entrance 
not  very  ceremoniously,  and  drew  well 
back.  Then,  at  her  cue,  she  made  a 
stately  rush,  and  so,  being  in  fall  swing 
before  she  cleared  the  wing,  she  swept 
into  the  centre  of  the  stage  with  great 
rapidity  and  resolution ;  no  trace  either 
of  her  sorrowful  heart  or  her  quaking 
limbs  was  visible  from  the  front. 


There  was  a  little  applause,  all  due 
to  Ashmead's  preliminary  apology, 
but  there  was  no  real  reception ;  for 
Germany  is  large  and  musical,  and 
she  was  not  immediately  recognized 
at  llombiirg.  But  there  was  that 
indescribable  flutter  which  marks  a 
good  impression  and  keen  expectation 
suddenly  aroused.  She  was  beautiful 
on  the  stage,  for  one  thing ;  her  fig- 
ure rather  tall  and  stately,  and  her 
face  full  of  power :  and  then  the  very 
way  she  came  on  showed  the  step  and 
carriage  of  an  artist  at  home  upon  the 
boards. 

She  cast  a  rapid  glance  round  the 
house,  observed  its  size,  and  felt  her 
way.  She  sung  her  first  song  even- 
ly, but  not  tamely,  yet  with  restrained 
])ower ;  but  the  tones  were  so  full  and 
flexible,  the  ex])ression  so  easy  yet  ex- 
act, that  the  judges  saw  there  was  no 
effort,  and  suspected  something  big 
might  be  yet  in  store  to-night.  At 
the  end  of  her  song  she  did  let  out  for 
a  moment,  and,  at  this  well-timed  fore- 
taste of  her  power,  tliere  was  applause, 
but  nothing  extravagant. 

She  was  quite  content,  however. 
She  met  Ashmead,  as  she  came  oft", 
and  said,  "All  is  well,  my  friend,  so 
far.  They  are  sitting  in  judgment  on 
tne,  like  sensible  people,  and  not  in  a 
hurry.     I  rather  like  that." 

"  Your  own  fault,"  said  Joseph. 
"You  should  have  been  announced. 
Prejudice  is  a  surer  card  than  judg- 
ment.    The  pul)lic  is  an  ass." 

"It  must  come  to  the  same  thing 
in  the  end,"  said  the  Klosking,  firm- 
ly.    "  One  can  sing,  or  one  can  not." 

Her  next  song  was  encored,  and 
she  came  ort'  flushed  with  art  and 
gratified  pride.  "I  have  no  fears 
now,"  said  she,  to  her  Achates,  firm- 
ly. "  I  have  my  barometer  ;  a  young 
lady  in  the  stalls.  Oh,  such  a  beauti- 
ful creature,  with  black  hair  and  e3'es! 
She  applauds  me  fearlessly.  Her  glo- 
rious eyes  speak  to  mine,  and  inspire 
me.  She  is  happy,  she  is.  I  drink 
sunbeams   at   her,      I  shall   act  and 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


25 


sing  'Le  Parlate  d'Amor'  for  her — 
and  you  will  see." 

Between  tlie  acts,  who  should  come 
in  but  Ned  Severne,  and  glided  into 
the  vacant  stall  by  Zoe's  side. 

She  quivered  at  his  coming  near 
her ;  he  saw  it,  and  felt  a  tlirill  of 
pleasure  himself. 

"How  is  '  S.  T.  ?' "  said  she,  kind- 
ly- 

"  '  S.  T.  ?'  "  said  he,  f.jrgetting. 

"Why,  your  sick  friend,  to  be 
sure." 

"Oh,  not  half  so  bad  as  he  thought. 
I  was  a  fool  to  lose  an  hour  of  you  for 
lain.  He  was  hipped ;  had  lost  all 
his  money  at  rou(ie  et  noir.  So  I  lent 
biin  fifty  pounds,  and  tluit  did  him 
more  good  than  the  doctor.  You  for- 
give me  ?" 

"Forgive  you?  I  approve.  Are 
you  going  back  to  him?"  said  she, 
demurely. 

' '  No,  thank  you,  I  have  made  sac- 
rifices  enough." 

And  so  indeed  he  had,  having  got 
cleaned  out  of  three  hundred  pounds 
through  preferring  gambling  to  beau- 

"  Singers  good  ?  '  he  inrpiired. 

"  Wretched,  all  but  one  ;  and  she  is 
divine." 

"Indeed.     Who  is  she?" 

"I  don't  know.  A  gentleman  in 
black  came  out — " 

"Mepbistophelcs?" 

"No  —  how  dare  you?  —  and  said 
a  singer  that  had  retired  would  per- 
form the  part  of  'Siebel,'  to  oblige; 
and  she  has  obliged  me  for  one. 
She  is,  oh,  so  superior  to  the  others ! 
Such  a  lieavenly  contralto  ;  ami  her 
n])per  notes,  honey  drojjping  from  the 
comb.  And  then  she  is  so  modest, 
so  dignified,  and  so  beautiful.  She  is 
fair  as  a  lily ;  and  such  a  queen -like 
brow,  and  deep,  gray  eyes,  full  of  sad- 
ness and  soul.  I'm  afraid  she  is  not 
happy.  Once  or  twice  she  fixed  them 
on  me,  and  they  magnetized  me,  and 
drew  me  to  her.  So  1  magnetized  her 
in  return.     I  should  know  her  aiiy- 

9 


where  fifty  years  hence.  Now,  if  I 
were  a  man,  I  should  love  that  wom- 
an and  make  her  love  me." 

"Then  I  am  very  glad  you  are  not 
a  man,"  said  Severne,  tenderh'. 

"So  am  I,"  whispered  Zoe,  and 
blushed. 

The  curtain  rose. 

"  Listen  now,  Mr,  Chatterbox," 
said  Zoe. 

Ned  Severne  composed  himself  to 
listen  ;  but  Friiulein  Graas  had  not 
sung  many  bars  before  he  revolted. 
"Listen  to  what?"  said  be;  "and 
look  at  what?  The  only  Marguerite 
in  the  place  is  by  my  side." 

Zoe  colored  with  pleasure  ;  but  her 
good  sense  was  not  to  be  blinded. 
"The  only  good  black  Jlephistophe- 
less,  you  mean,"  said  she.  "To  be 
Marguerite,  one  must  be  great,  and 
swegt,  and  tender ;  yes,  and  far  more 
lovely  than  ever  woman  was.  That 
lady  is  a  better  color  for  the  part  ihan 
I  am  ;  but  neither  she  nor  I  shall  ever 
be  Marguerite." 

He  murmured  in  her  ear,  "You  are 
Marguerite,  for  you  could  fire  a 
man's  heart  so  that  he  would  sell  his 
soul  to  gain  you." 

It  was  the  accent  of  passion,  and 
the  sensitive  girl  quivered.  Yet  she 
defended  herself— in  words, "Hush!" 
said  she.  "That  is  wicked — out  of 
an  opera.  Fanny  would  laugh  at  you, 
if  she  heard." 

Here  were  two  reasons  for  not 
making  such  hot  love  in  the  stalls  of 
an  opera.  Which  of  the  two  weigli- 
ed  most  with  the  fair  reasoner  shall 
be  left  to  her  own  sex. 

The  brief  scene  ended  with  the  dec- 
laration of  the  evil  sjiirit  that  Margue- 
rite is  lost. 

"There,"  said  Zoe,  naively,  "that 
is  over,  thank  goodness  :  now  you  will 
hear  my  singer." 

Siebel  and  Marta  came  on  from  op- 
posite sides  of  the  stage.  "Seel" 
said  Zoe,  "  isn't  she  lovely  ?"  and  she 
turned  her  beaming  face  full  on  Sev- 
erne, to  share  her  ]ileasin-c  with  him. 
To  her  amazement  the  man  seemed 


2G 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


,  transformed  :  a  dark  cloud  had  come 
over  his  sunny  countenance.  lie  sat, 
pale,  and  seemed  to  stare  at  the  tall, 
majestic,  dreamy  singer,  who  stood 
ini movable,  dressed  like  a  velvet  youtli, 
yet  looking  like  no  earthly  boy,  but  a 
draped  statue  of  Mercury, 

"New  lighted  ou  a  heaven-kissiug  hill." 

The  blood  left  his  lips,  and  Zoe 
tliouglit  lie  was  faint ;  but  the  next 
moment  he  init  his  handkercliief  has- 
tily to  his  nose,  and  wriggled  his  way 
out,  with  a  rush  and  a  crawl,  strange- 
ly combined,  at  the  very  moment  wiien 
tlie  singer  delivered  her  first  command- 
ing note  of  recitative. 

Every  body  about  looked  surprised 
and  disgusted  at  so  ill-timed  an  exit ; 
but  Zoe,  who  had  seen  his  white  face, 
was  seriously  alarmetl,  and  made  a 
movement  to  rise  too,  and  watch,  or 
even  follow  iiim  ;  but,  when  he  got  to 
the  side,  he  looked  back  to  her,  and 
made  her  a  signal  that  his  nose  was 
bleeding,  but  it  was  of  no  great  con- 
sequence. He  even  jioiiited  witii  liis 
finger  out  and  then  back  again,  indi- 
cating he  slioald  not  be  long  gone. 

This  re -assured  her  greatly;  for 
she  had  always  been  told  a  little 
bleeding  of  that  sort  was  good  for 
hot-licaded  young  peo]ile. 

Then  the  singer  took  comjjlete  hold 
of  licr.  The  composer,  to  balance  the 
delightful  ])ait  of  Marguerite,  has  giv- 
en Siebcl  a  melody  with  wliich  won- 
ders can  be  done;  and  the  Klosking 
had  made  a  considerable  reserve  of 
her  powers  for  this  crowning  effort. 
After  a  recitative  that  rivaled  tlie  sil- 
ver trumpet,  she  flung  herself  with  im- 
mediate and  electrifying  ardor  into  the 
melody  ;  the  orchestra,  taken  by  sur- 
])rise,  f(jiight  feebly  for  the  old  rijiple; 
but  the  Klosking,  resolute  by  nature, 
was  now  mighty  as  Neptune,  and 
would  have  her  big  waves.  The  mo- 
mentary struggle,  in  which  she  was 
loyally  seconded  by  tiie  conductor, 
evoked  her  grand  powers.  Catgut 
had  to  yield  to  brains,  and  the  whole 
orchestra,  composed,  after  all,  of  good 


musicians,  soon  caught  the  divine  af- 
flatus, and  tlie  little  theatre  seemed  on 
fire  with  music  ;  the  air,  sung  with  a 
large  rhythm,  swelled  and  rose,  and 
thrilled  every  breast  witii  amazement 
and  delight ;  the  house  hung  breath- 
less; by-and-by  there  were  ])aleciieeks, 
panting  bosoms,  and  wet  eyes,  the  true, 
rare  triumphs  of  the  sovereigns  of  song; 
and  when  tlie  last  note  had  pealed  and 
ceased  to  vibrate,  the  pent-up  feelings 
broke  forth  in  a  roar  of  applause, 
which  shook  the  dome,  followed  by  a 
clajiping  of  hands,  like  a  salvo,  that 
never  stopped  till  Ina  Klosking,  who 
had  retired,  came  forward  again. 

81ie  courtesied  with  admirable  dig- 
nity, modesty,  and  resj)ectfal  gravity, 
and  the  a])plaiise  thundered,  and  peo- 
jile  rose  at  her  in  clusters  about  the 
lioiise,  and  waved  their  hats  and  hand- 
kerchiefs at  her,  and  a  little  Italian 
recognized  her,  and  cried  out  as  loud 
as  he  could,  "Viva  la  Klosking!  vi- 
va!" and  she  heard  that,  and  it  gave 
her  a  thrill ;  and  Zoe  Vizard,  being 
out  of  England,  and,  tiierefore,  brave 
as  a  lioness,  stood  boldly  up  at  her 
full  height,  and,  taking  her  bouquet 
in  her  right  hand,  carried  it  swiftly  to 
her  left  ear,  and  so  flung  it,  with  a 
free  back-handed  sweeji,  more  Orient- 
al than  hhiglisli,  into  the  air,  and  it 
lighted  beside  the  singer;  and  she 
saw  the  noble  motion,  and  the  bou- 
quet fly,  and,  when  she  made  her  last 
courtesy  at  the  wing,  she  fixed  her 
eyes  on  Zoe,  and  then  jiut  her  baud 
to  her  heart  with  a  most  touching 
gesture  that  said,  "  Most  of  all  I  val- 
ue your  bouquet  and  your  praise." 

Then  the  house  buzzed,  and  ranks 
were  leveled ;  little  people  sjioke  to 
big  people,  and  big  to  little,  in  mutu- 
al congratulation ;  for  at  such  rare 
moments  (except  in  Anglo-Saxony) 
instinct  seems  to  tell  men  that  true 
art  is  a  sunshine  of  the  soul,  and 
blesses  the  rich  and  the  poor  alike. 

I  One  person  was  aft'ected  in  another 
way.  Jfarrington  Vizard  sat  rapt  in 
attention,  and  never  took  his  eyes  off 

I  her,  yet  said  not  a  word. 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


27 


Several  Russian  and  Prussian  gran- 
dees souglit  an  introduction  to  the 
new  singer.  But  she  pleaded  fa- 
tigue. 

The  manager  entreated  her  to  sup 
with  him,  and  meet  the  Grand  Duke 
of  Hesse.  She  said  she  had  a  prior 
engagement. 

Siie  went  quietly  home,  and  supped 
with  her  faitliful  Ashmead,  and  very 
heartily  too  ;  for  nature  was  exhanst- 
ed,  and  agitation  had  quite  spoiled 
her  dinner. 

Joseph  Ashmead,  in  the  pride  of 
his  heart,  ])roposed  a  bottle  of  Cham- 
pagne. The  Queen  of  Song,  with 
triumph  flushed,  lookdl  rather  blue 
at  that.  "My  friend,"  said  she,  in  a 
meek,  deprecating  way, "  we  are  work- 
ing-people: is  not  Bordeaux  good 
enough  for  ns?" 

"Yes;  but  it  is  not  good  enough 
for  the  occasion,"  said  Joseph,  a  little 
testily.  "Well,  never  mind ;"  and  he 
muttered  to  himself,  "tiiat  is  the  worst 
of  good  women :  they  are  so  terribly 
stingy." 

The  Queen  of  Song,  with  triumph 
flushed,  did  not  catch  tliese  words, 
but  only  a  little  growling.  However, 
as  supper  proceeded,  she  got  uneasy. 
So  she  rang  the  bell,  and  ordered  a 
pint :  of  this  she  drank  one  spoonful. 
Tiie  remainder,  co-operating  with  tri- 
umph and  claret,  kept  Ashmead  in 
a  great  flow  of  spirits.  He  traced 
her  a  brilliant  career.  To  be  photo- 
graphed to-morrow  morning  as  Sie- 
bel,  and  in  jjlain  dress.  I'aragraphs 
in  lira,  Figaro,  Galignani,  Inde'pen- 
dance  Beige,  and  the  leading  dailies. 
Large  wood-cuts  before  leaving  Hom- 
burg  for  Paris,  London,  Vienna,  St. 
I'etersburg,  and  New  York." 

"I'm  in  your  hands,"  said  she,  and 
smiled  languidly,  to  ple.ase  him. 

But  by -and -by  he  looked  at  her, 
and  found  she  was  taking  a  little  cry 
all  to  herself. 

"  Dear  me!"  said  he,  "  what  is  the 
matter  ?" 

"My  friend,  forgive  me.  lie  was 
not  there  to  share  my  tiininph." 


CHAPTER  IV. 

As  the  opera  drew  to  an  end,  Zoe 
began  to  look  round  more  and  more 
for  Severne ;  but  he  did  not  come, 
and  Lord  Uxmoor  offered  his  arm 
earnestly.  She  took  it ;  but  hung 
back  a  moment  on  his  very  arm,  to 
tell  Harrington  Mr.  Severne  had  been 
taken  ill. 

At  the  railway  station  the  truant 
emerged  suddenly,  just  as  the  train 
was  leaving ;  but  Lord  Uxmoor  had 
secured  three  seats,  and  the  defaulter 
had  to  go  with  Harrington.  On  reacii- 
ing  the  hotel,  the  ladies  took  their  bed- 
candles  ;  but  Uxmoor  found  time  to 
propose  an  excursion  next  day,  Sun- 
day, to  a  lovely  little  lake — open  car- 
riage, four  horses.  Tiie  young  ladies 
accepted,  but  INIr.  Severne  declined  ; 
he  thanked  Lord  Uxmoor  politely,  but 
he  had  arrears  of  correspondence. 

Zoe  cast  a  mortified  and  rather  a 
haughty  glance  on  him,  and  Fanny 
shrugged  her  shoulders  incredulously. 

These  two  ladies  brushed  hair  to- 
gether in  Zoe's  room.  That  is  a 
sootliing  operation,  my  masters,  and 
famous  for  stimulating  females  to 
friendly  gossip ;  but  this  time  there 
was,  for  once,  a  guarded  reserve. 
Zoe  was  irritated,  puzzled,  mortified, 
and  even  grieved  by  Severne's  con- 
duct. Fanny  was  gnawed  by  jeal- 
ousy, and  out  of  temper.  She  had 
forgiven  Zoe  Ned  Severne.  But  that 
young  lady  was  insatiable  ;  Lord  Ux- 
moor, too,  had  fallen  openly  in  love 
with  her — openly  to  a  female  eye.  So, 
then,  a  blonde  had  no  chance,  with  u 
dark  girl  by :  thus  reasoned  she,  and 
it  was  intoleralile. 

It  was  some  time  before  cither 
spoke  an  atom  of  what  was  upper- 
most in  her  mind.  They  each  doled 
out  a  hundred  sentences  that  missed 
the  mind  and  mingled  readily  with 
the  atmosphere,  being,  in  fact,  mere 
preliminary  and  idle  air.  So  two 
deer,  in  duel,  go  about  and  about,  and 
even  atfect  to  look  another  w.ay,  till 
they  are  rijie  for  collision.     There  be 


28 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


writers  would  give  the  reader  all  the 
preliiuiiiary  \mlYs  of  articulated  wind, 
and  every  body  would  say,  "How 
clever!  That  is  just  the  way  {;irls 
really  talk."  But  I  leave  the  glory  of 
photographing  nullities  to  the  geniuses 
of  the  age,  and  run  to  the  first  words 
which  could,  without  impiety,  be  call- 
ed dialogue. 

"  Don't  you  think  his  conduct  a  lit- 
tle mysterious  ?''  said  Zoe,  nuil  a  propos 
of  any  thing  that  had  been  said  hith- 
erto. 

"Well,  yes;  rather,"  said  Fanny, 
with  marked  carelessness. 

"  I'irst,  a  sick  friend ;  then  a  bleed- 
ing at  the  nose ;  and  now  he  won't 
drive  to  the  lake  with  us.  Arrears  of 
corres])otidence  ?    Pooh  ! " 

Now,  Fanny's  suspicions  were  deep- 
er than  Zoe's ;  she  had  observed  Sev- 
erne  keenly :  but  it  was  not  her  cue 
to  speak.  She  yawned,  and  said, 
"What  does  it  matter?" 

"Don't  be  unkind,  Fanny.  It  mat- 
ters to  me." 

"  Not  it.    You  have  another  ready." 

"What  other?  There  is  no  one 
that  I— -Fanny." 

"Oh,  nonsense!  The  man  is  evi- 
dently smitten,  and  you  keep  encour- 
aging him." 

"No,  I  don't;  I  am  barely  civil. 
And  don't  be  ill-natured.  What  can 
I  do  ?" 

"Why,  be  content  with  one  at  a 
time." 

"It  is  very  rude  to  talk  so.  Be- 
sides, I  haven't  got  one,  much  less  two. 
I  begin  to  doubt  Inni ;  and,  Lord  Ux- 
moor !  you  know  I  can  not  possibly 
care  for  him — an  acrpiaiutance  of  ves- 
terday." 

"But  you  know  all  about  him — 
that  he  is  an  excellent  parti"  said 
Fanny,  with  a  provoking  sneer. 

This  was  not  to  be  borne. 

"  Oh  !"  said  Zoe,  "  I  see  ;  you  want 
him  for  yourself.  It  is  you  that  are 
not  content  with  one.  Yon  forget  how 
poor  Harrington  would  miss  your  at- 
tentions. He  would  bvqin  to  apj)reci- 
ate  them — when  lie  had  lost  them."' 


This  stung,  and  Fanny  turned  white 
and  red  by  turns.  "I  deserve  this," 
said  she,  "  for  wasting  advice  on  u  co- 
quette." 

"That  is  not  true.  I'm  no  co- 
quette ;  and  here  I  am,  asking  your 
advice,  and  you  only  snub  me.  You 
are  a  jealous,  cross,  unreasonable  thing." 

"SVell,  I'm  not  a  hy])ocrite. " 

"  I  never  was  called  so  before,  "said 
Zoe,  n(jbly  and  gently. 

"  Then  you  were  not  found  out,  that 
is  all.  You  look  so  simple  and  ingen- 
uous, and  blush  if  a  man  says  half  a 
word  to  you  ;  and  all  the  time  you  are 
a  greater  flirt  than  I  am." 

"Oh,  Fanny!"  screamed  Zoe,  with 
horror. 

It  seems  a  repartee  may  be  convey- 
ed in  a  scream  ;  for  Fanny  now  lost 
her  temper  altogether.  "Your  con- 
'  duct  with  those  two  men  is  abomina- 
ble," said  she.  "I  won't  speak  to  you 
any  more." 

"I  beg  you  will  not,  in  your  pres- 
ent temper,"  said  Zoe,  with  unafl'ected 
dignit}-,  and  rising  like  a  Greek  col- 
umn. 

Fanny  flounced  out  of  the  room. 

Zoe  sat  down  and  sighed,  and  her 

glorious  eyes  were  dimmed.     Mystery 

— doubt — and  now  a  quarrel.     What 

a   day!     At   her  age,  a  little   cloud 

'•  seems  to  darken  the  whole  sky. 

Next  morning  the  little  part}'  met 
at  breakfast.  Lord  Uxmoor,  antici- 
pating a  dclightfid  day,  was  in  high 
spirits,  and  he  and  Fanny  kept  ii])  the 
ball.  .She  had  resolved,  in  tiie  silent 
'  watches  of  the  night,  to  contest  liim 
with  Zoe,  and  make  every  i)ossible  use 
of  Sevcrne,  in  the  conflict. 

Zoe  w.as  silent  and  distraite,  and 
did  not  even  try  to  comjjete  with  her 
sparkling  rival.  But  Lord  Uxmoor's 
eyes  often  wandered  fiom  his  s)jrightly 
companion  to  Zoe,  and  it  was  plain  he 
longed  for  a  word  from  her  mouth. 

Fanny  observed,  bit  her  lip,  and 
tacked  internally,  "  'bout  ship,"  as  the 
sailors  say.  Her  game  now,  conceived 
in  a  moment,  and  at  once  put  in  exe- 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


29 


cution,  was  to  encourage  Uxmoor's  at- 
tentions to  Zoe.  She  began  by  open- 
ly courting  Mr.  Severne,  to  make  Zoe 
talk  to  Uxinoor,  and  also  make  him 
think  that  Severne  and  she  were  the 
lovers. 

Her  intentions  were  to  utilize  the 
coming  excursion :  she  would  attacli 
herself  to  Harrington,  and  so  drive  Zoe 
and  Uxmoor  togetlier ;  and  then  Lord 
Uxmoor,  at  his  present  rate  of  amor- 
ous advance,  would  probably  lead  Zoe 
to  a  detaclied  rock,  and  make  her  a 
serious  declaration.  This  good,  art- 
ful girl  felt  sure  such  a  declaration, 
made  a  few  months  hence  in  Barford- 
shire,  would  be  accepted,  and  herself 
left  in  the  cold.  Therefore  she  re- 
solved it  should  be  made  prematurely, 
and  in  Prussia,  with  Severne  at  hand, 
and  so  in  all  probability  come  to  noth- 
ing. She  even  glimpsed  a  vista  of 
consequences,  and  in  that  little  avenue 
discerned  the  figure  of  Fanny  Dover 
playing  the  part  of  consoler,  friend, 
and  ultimately  spouse  to  a  wealthy  no- 
ble. 


CHAPTER  V. 

The  letters  were  brought  in  ;  one 
was  to  Vizard,  from  Herries,  announ- 
cing a  remittance ;  one  to  Lord  Ux- 
moor. On  reading  it,  he  was  surjjrised 
into  an  exclamation,  and  his  face  ex- 
pressed great  concern. 

"Oh! "said  Zoe— "Harrington!" 

Harrington's  attention  being  tlius 
drawn,  he  said,  "No  bad  news,  I 
hope?" 

"  Ycs,"said  Uxmoor,  in  a  low  voice, 
"very  bad.  My  oldest,  truest,  dear- 
est friend  has  been  seized  with  small- 
pox, and  his  life  is  in  danger.  He  has 
asked  for  me,  poor  fellow.  This  is 
from  his  sister.  I  must  start  i)y  the 
twelve-o'clock  train." 

"Small -pox!  Why,  it  is  conta- 
gious," cried  Fanny;  "and  so  disfig- 
ming!" 

"  1  can't  help  that,"  said  the  Iionest 
fellow;  and  instantly  rang  the  bell  for 


his  servant,  and  gave  the  requisite  or- 
ders. 

Zoe,  whose  eye  had  never  left  him 
all  the  time,  said,  softly,  "It  is  brave 
and  good  of  you.  We  poor,  emotion- 
al, cowardly  girls  should  sit  down  and 
cry."  ^ 

"  You  would  not,  Miss  Vizard," 
said  he,  firmly,  looking  full  at  her. 
"  If  you  think  you  would,  you  don't 
know  yourself." 

Zoe  colored  higli,  and  was  silent. 

Tiien  Lord  Uxmoor  showed  the  true 
English  gentleman.  "I  do  hope," 
said  he,  earnestly,  though  in  a  some- 
what broken  voice,  "that  you  will  not 
let  this  s])oil  the  pleasure  we  had  plan- 
ned togetlier.  Harrington  will  be  my 
deputv." 

"Well,  I  don't  know,"  said  Har- 
rington, sympathizingly.  Mr.  Severne 
remarked,  "Such  an  occurrence  puts 
pleasure  out  of  one's  head."  This  lio 
said,  with  his  eyes  on  his  plate,  like 
one  repeating  a  lesson.  "  Vizard,  I 
entreat  you,"  said  Uxmoor,  almost 
vexed.  "It  will  only  make  me  more 
unhappy  if  you  don't." 

"We  will  go,"  cried  Zoe,  earnestly ; 
"we  promise  to  go.  What  does  it 
matter  ?  We  shall  think  of  you  and 
your  poor  friend  wherever  we  are. 
And  I  shall  pray  for  him.  But,  ah,  I 
know  how  little  prayers  avail  to  avert 
tlicse  cruel  bereavements."  She  was 
yoinig,  but  old  enough  to  have  prayed 
hard  for  her  sick  mother's  life,  and, 
like  tlie  rest  of  us,  prayed  in  vain.  At 
this  remembrance  the  tears  ran  undis- 
guised down  her  cheeks. 

Tlie  oi)cn  sympathy  of  one  so  young 
and  beautiful,  and  withal  rather  re- 
served, made  Lord  Uxmoor  gulp,  and, 
not  to  break  down  before  them  all,  he 
blurted  out  that  he  must  go  and  pack : 
with  tiiis  he  Inn'ried  away. 

He  was  unhapjiy.  Besides  the  ca- 
lamity he  dreaded,  it  was  grievous  to 
be  torn  away  from  a  woman  he  loved 
at  first  sight,  and  just  when  she  had 
come  out  so  worthy  of  his  love :  slie 
was  a  higli-mindeil  crcatiu'e  ;  she  had 
been  silent  and  reserved  so  long  as  the 


30 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


conversation  was  trivial ;  but,  when 
trouble  came,  slic  was  tlie  one  to  speak 
to  liini  bravely  and  kindly.  Well, 
what  must  be,  must.  All  tins  ran 
through  his  mind,  and  made  idni  sigh  ; 
but  it  never  occurred  to  him  to  shirk 
— to  telegraph  instead  of  going — nor 
yet  to  value  himself  on  his  self-denial. 

They  did  not  see  him  again  till  he 
was  on  the  point  of  going,  and  then  he 
took  leave  of  them  all,  Zoe  last.  When 
he  came  to  her,  he  ignored  the  others, 
except  that  he  lowered  his  voice  in 
speaking  to  her.  "  God  bless  you  for 
your  kindness,  Miss  Vizard.  It  is  a 
little  hard  upon  a  fellow  to  have  to 
run  away  from  such  an  acquaintance, 
just  when  I  have  been  so  fortunate 
as  to  make  it." 

"Oh,  Lord  U.\moor,"  said  Zoe,  in- 
nocently, "never  mind  that.  Why, 
we  live  in  the  same  county,  and  we 
are  on  the  way  home.  All  I  thiidi  of 
is  your  poor  friend ;  and  do  please  tel- 
egraph— to  Harrington." 

He  promised  he  would,  and  went 
away  disappointed  somehow  at  her 
last  words. 

When  he  was  gone,  Severne  went 
out  on  the  balcony  to  smoke,  and  Har- 
rington held  a  council  with  the  young 
ladies.  "  Well,  now,"said  he,  "about 
this  trij)  to  the  lake." 

"  I  shall  not  go,  for  one,"  said  Zoe, 
resolutely. 

"  La !"  said  Fanny,  looking  carefully 
away  from  her  to  ILarrington ;  "and 
she  was  the  one  that  insisted." 

Zoe  ignored  the  speaker,  and  set  her 
face stitily  toward  Harrington.  "She 
only  said  that  to  Itim." 

Fannj).  "But,  unfortimately,  ears 
are  not  confined  to  the  noble." 

Zoe.  "Nor  tongues  to  the  discreet." 

Both  these  remarks  were  addressed 
pointedly  to  Harrington. 

"Halloo!"  said  he,  looking  from 
one  flaming  girl  to  the  other;  "am  I 
to  be  a  shuttlecock,  and  your  discreet 
tongues  the  battledoors?  What  is 
up  ? ' 

"We  don't  speak,"  said  the  frank 
Zoe;  "that  is  up." 


"Why,  what  is  the  row?" 

"  No  matter  "  (stiffly). 

"No  great  matter,  111  be  bound. 
'Toll,  toll  the  bell.'  Here  goes  one 
more  immortal  friendship — quenched 
in  eternal  silence." 

Jjoth  ladies  bridled.    Neither  spoke. 

"And  dead  silence,  as  ladies  under- 
stand it,  consists  in  speaking  at  one 
another  instead  of  to." 

No  rejjly. 

"That  "is  well-bred  taciturnity." 

No  answer. 

"  The  dignified  reserve  that  distin- 
guishes an  estrangement  from  a  squab- 
ble." 

No  reply. 

"Well,  I  admire  permanent  senti- 
ments, good  or  bad  ;  constant  resolves, 
etc.  Your  friendship  has  not  proved 
immortal ;  so  now  let  us  see  how  long 
you  can  hold  spite — siicvks  !"  Then 
he  aifected  to  start.  "What  is  this? 
I  spy  a  rational  creature  out  on  yon- 
der balcony.  I  hasten  to  join  him. 
'Birds  of  a  feather,' you  know  ;"  and 
with  that  he  went  out  to  his  favorite, 
and  never  looked  behind  him. 

The  young  ladies,  indignant  at  the 
contempt  the  big  man  had  jiresumed 
to  cast  upon  the  constant  soul  of  wom- 
an, turned  two  red  faces  and  four 
sparkling  eyes  to  each  othei',  with  the 
instinctive  sympathy  of  the  jointly  in- 
jured ;  but  remembering  in  time,  turn- 
ed sharply  round  again,  and  presented 
napes,  and  so  sat  sullen. 

By-and-by  a  chilling  thought  fell 
upon  them  both  at  the  same  moment 
of  time.  Tlie  men  were  good  friends 
as  usual,  safe,  by  sex,  fi'om  tiffs,  and 
could  do  without  them ;  and  a  dull 
day  impended  over  the  hostile  fair. 

Thereupon  the  ingenious  Fanny  re- 
solved to  make  a  splash  of  some  sort, 
and  disturb  stagnation.  She  suddenly 
cried  out,  ''Lai  and  the  man  is  gone 
away :  so  what  is  the  use  ?"  This  re- 
mark she  was  careful  to  level  at  bare 
space. 

Zoe,  addressing  the  same  person — 
space,  to  wit — inquired  of  him  if  any 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


31 


body  in  his  parts  knew  to  whom  this 
young  lady  was  addressing  Iierself. 

"To  a  girl  that  is  too  sensible  not 
to  see  the  folly  of  quarreling  about  a 
man — when  he  is  gone"  said  Fanny. 

"If  it  is  me  you  mean," said  Zoe, 
stiffly,  ^'■really  I  am  surprised.  You 
forget  we  are  at  daggers  drawn." 

"  No,  I  don't,  dear ;  and  parted  for- 
ever." 

Zoe  smiled  at  that  against  her  will. 

"  Zoe !"  (penitentialiy). 

"Frances!  "(archly). 

"  Come,  cuddle  me  quick!" 

Zoe  was  all  round  her  neck  in  a  mo- 
ment, like  a  lace  scarf,  and  there  was 
violent  kissing,  with  a  tear  or  two. 

Then  they  put  an  arm  round  each 
other's  waist,  and  went  all  about  the 
premises  intertwined  like  snakes  ;  and 
Zoe  gave  Fanny  her  cameo  brooch, 
tlie  one  with  the  pearls  round  it. 

The  person  to  whom  Vizard  fled 
from  the  tongue  of  beauty  was  a  de- 
lightful talker :  he  read  two  or  three 
newspapers  every  day,  and  recollected 
the  best  things.  Now,  it  is  not  every 
body  can  remember  a  thousand  dis- 
connected facts  and  recall  them  apro- 
pos. He  was  various,  fluent,  and,  above 
all,  superficial ;  and  such  are  your  best 
conversers.  They  have  sometliing 
good  and  strictly  ephemeral  to  say  on 
every  tiling,  and  don't  know  enough 
of  any  thing  to  imjjale  their  hearers. 
In  my  youth  there  talked  in  Tall  Mall 
ji  gentleman  known  as  "Conversation 
Siiarpe."  He  eclipsed  every  body. 
Even  Macaulay  ])aled.  Shari)e  talk- 
ed all  the  blessed  afternoon,  and  gi-ave 
men  listened,  enciianted  ;  and  of  all  he 
said,  nothing  stuck.  Where  be  now 
your  Sharpiana?  The  learned  may 
be  comjjarcd  to  mines.  These  desul- 
tory charmers  are  more  like  the  orna- 
mental cottage  near  Staines,  forty  or 
fifty  rooms,  and  the  whole  structure 
one  story  high.  The  mine  teems  witli 
solid  wealtli ;  but  yon  nnist  grojie  and 
trouble  to  come  to  it:  it  is  easier  and 
pleasanter  to  run  about  the  cottage  with 
u  lot  of  rooms  all  on  the  ground-floor. 


The  mind  and  body  both  get  into 
habits  —  sometimes  apart,  sometimes 
in  conjunction.  Nowadays  we  seat 
the  body  to  work  the  intellect,  even  in 
its  lower  form  of  mechanical  labor :  it 
is  your  clod  that  toddles  about  labor- 
ing. The  Peripatetics  did  not  endure: 
their  method  was  not  suited  to  man's 
microcosm.  Bodily  movements  frit- 
ter mental  attention.  We  sit  at  the 
feet  of  Gamaliel,  or,  as  some  call  him, 
Tyndal;  and  we  sit  to  Bacon  and 
Adam  Smith.  But,  when  we  are 
standing  or  walking,  we  love  to  take 
brains  easy.  If  this  delightful  chatter- 
box had  been  taken  down  short-hand 
and  printed,  and  Vizard  had  been  set 
down  to  Severni  Opnscula,  ten  volumes 
— and,  mind  you,  Severne  had  talked 
all  ten  by  this  time — tlie  Barfordshire 
squire  and  old  Oxonian  would  have 
cried  out  for  "more  matter  with  less 
art,"  and  perhaps  Iiave  even  fied  for 
relief  to  some  shorter  treatise  —  Ba- 
con's "Essays,"  Browne's  "Religio 
Medici,"  or  Buckle's  "Civilization." 
But  lounging  in  a  balcony,  and  lazily 
breathing  a  cloud,  he  coidd  have  list- 
ened all  day  to  his  desultory,  delight- 
fid  friend,  overflowing  with  little  ques- 
tions, little  answers,  little  queries,  lit- 
tle epigrams,  little  maxims  a  la  Roche- 
fuucauld,  little  histories,  little  anec- 
dotes, little  gossip,  and  little  snaj)  shots 
at  every  feather  fiying. 

"Quicquid  acjnut  hoiniues,  votum,  thnor, 
ini,  voliiptiis, 
Gaiuliii,   (liscursus,  nostri    farr.ngo   Se- 
vern!." 

But,  alas  !  after  an  horn-  of  tovich- 
and-go,  of  superficiality  and  soft  de- 
light, the  desultory  charmer  fell  on  a 
subject  he  iiad  studied.  So  then  lie 
bored  his  companion  for  the  first  time 
in  all  the  tour. 

But,  to  tell  the  honest  truth,  Mr. 
Severne  had  hitherto  l)een  j)leasing 
his  friend  with  a  cold-blooded  ])urj)0se. 
His  ])rcliiniuary  gossip,  tliat  made  the 
time  fiy  so  agreeably,  was  intended  to 
oil  the  way,  to  lubricate  the  passage 
of  a  premeditated  ])ili.  As  soon  as  he 
had  got  Vizard  into  perfect  good  hu- 


32 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


mor,  he  said,  apropos  of  notliin;^  tliat 
had  passed,  ''liy-the-bye,  old  fellow, 
that  five  hundred  pounds  you  promised 
to  lend  me!" 

Vizard  was  startled  by  this  sudden 
turn  of  a  conversation,  hitherto  agree- 
able. 

"Why,  you  have  had  three  hundred 
and  lost  it,"  said  he.  "Now,  take 
my  advice,  and  don't  lose  any  more." 

"I  don't  mean  to.  But  I  am  de- 
termined to  win  back  the  thiee  hun- 
dred, and  a  f^reat  deal  more,  before  I 
leave  this.  I  have  discovered  a  sys- 
tem, an  infallible  one." 

"I  am  sorry  to  hear  it,"  said  Har- 
rington, gravely.  "That  is  the  sec- 
ond ste])  on  tiie  road  to  ruin ;  the 
gambler  with  a  system  is  the  confirmed 
maniac." 

"  What !  because  other  systems  have 
been  tried,  and  proved  to  be  false? 
Mine  is  untried,  and  it  is  mere  preju- 
dice to  condemn  it  unlieard." 

"Propound  it,  then,"  said  Vizard. 
"Only  please  obseiTC  the  bank  has 
got  its  system ;  you  forget  that :  and 
the  bank's  system  is  to  take  a  positive 
advantage,  which  must  win  in  tlie  long 
run  ;  therefore,  all  counter  -  systems 
must  lose  in  tlie  long  run." 

"  But  the  bank  is  tied  to  a  long  run, 
the  individual  player  is  not." 

Tliis  reply  checked  Vizard  for  a 
moment,  and  the  other  followed  up  his 
advantage.  "Now,Vizard,  be  reason- 
able. What  would  the  trifling  advan- 
tage the  bank  derives  from  an  incident, 
which  occurs  only  once  in  twenty-eight 
deals,  avail  against  a  jilayer  who  could 
foresee  at  any  given  deal  wliether  the 
card  that  was  going  to  come  np  the 
nearest  tliirty  would  be  on  the  red  or 
black  ?" 

"No  avail  at  all.  God  Almighty 
could  break  the  bank  every  aftemoon. 
Apres  ?  as  we  say  in  France.  Do  you 
pretend  to  omniscience?" 

"Not  exactly." 

"  Well,  but  prescience  of  isolated 
events,  preceded  by  no  indicia,  belongs 
only  to  omniscience.  Did  they  not 
teach  you  tliat  much  at  Oxford?" 


"  They  taught  me  very  little  at  Ox- 
ford." 

"Fault  of  the  place,  eh?  You 
taught  them  something,  though  ;  and 
the  present  conversation  reminds  me 
of  it.  In  your  second  term,  when  ev- 
ery other  man  is  still  iinizzed  and  kept 
down  as  a  freshman,  you  were  already 
a  leader ;  a  chief  of  misrule.  You 
founded  a  whist- club  in  Trinity,  the 
primmest  college  of  all.  The  Dons 
rooted  you  out  in  college  ;  but  you  did 
not  succumb;  you  fuUilled  ilie  saying 
of  Sydney  Smith,  tliat  '  Cribbage 
sliould  be  played  in  caverns,  and  si.K- 
penny- whist  in  tlie  howling  wilder- 
ness.' Ha!  ha!  how  well  I  remem- 
ber riding  across  Bnlliiigton  Green  one 
fine  afternoon,  and  finding  four  Oxford 
hacks  haltered  in  a  row,  and  the  four 
under-graduates  that  had  hired  tlicm 
on  long  tick,  sitting  cross-legged  under 
the  hedge  like  Turks  or  tailors,  round 
a  rude  table  with  the  legs  sawed  down 
to  stumjis.  You  had  two  packs,  and 
a  portable  inkstand,  and  were  so  iiard 
at  it,  that  I  jiut  my  mare's  nose  right 
over  the  quartet  before  you  saw  either 
her  or  me.  That  hedge  was  like  a 
drift  of  odoriferous  snow  with  the  haw- 
thorn bloom,  and  primroses  sparkled 
on  its  l)ank  like  topazes.  The  birds 
chirruped,  the  sky  smiled,  the  sun 
burned  jierfumes ;  and  there  sat  my 
lord  and  his  fellow -maniacs,  snick- 
snack — pit-pat — cutting,  dealing,  play- 
ing, revoking,  scoring,  and  exchang- 
ing I.  O.  U.'s  not  worth  the  paper." 

"All  true,  but  the  revoking,"  said 
Severne,  merrily.  "  Monster !  by  the 
memory  of  those  youtliful  days,  I  de- 
mand a  fair  hearing."  Then,  grave- 
ly, "Hang  it  all.  Vizard,  I  am  not  a 
fellow  that  is  always  intruding  his 
afi'airs  and  his  theories  upon  other 
men." 

"No,  no,  no, "said  Vizard,  hastily, 
and  half  a])ologeticalIy  ;  "goon." 

"Well,  then,  of  course  I  don't  pre- 
tend to  foreknowledge ;  but  I  do  to 
experience,  and  you  know  experience 
teaches  tlie  wise." 

"Not  to  fling  five  hundred  after 


I 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


33 


three.  There — I  beg  pardon.  Pro- 
ceed, instructor  of  youth." 

"Do  listen,  then  :  experience  teacli- 
es  us  that  hick  has  its  hiws ;  and  I 
build  my  system  on  one  of  them.  If 
two  opposite  accidents  are  sure  to  hap- 
pen equally  often  in  a  total  of  fifty 
times,  people,  who  have  not  observed, 
expect  them  to  happen  turn  about, 
and  bet  accordingly.  But  tliey  don't 
happen  turn  about;  they  make  short 
runs,  and  sometimes  long  ones.  They 
positively  avoid  alternation.  Have 
you  not  observed  this  at  trente  et  qua- 
rante  ?" 

"No." 

"  Then  you  have  not  watched  the 
cards." 

"Not  much.  The  faces  of  the 
gamblers  were  always  my  study. 
They  are  instructive." 

"  Well,  then,  I'll  give  you  an  exam- 
ple outside  —  for  the  principle  runs 
tiu'ough  all  equal  chances — take  the 
university  boat  -  race  :  you  have  kept 
your  eye  on  that  ?" 

"Rather.  Never  missed  one  yet. 
Come  all  the  way  from  Barfordsliire 
to  see  it." 

"Well,  there's  an  example." 

"Of  chance?  No,  thank  you. 
That  goes  by  strength,  skill,  wind,  en- 
durance, chaste  living,  self-denial,  and 
judicious  training.  Every  wiiming 
boat  is  maimed  by  virtues."  I  lis  eye 
flashed,  and  he  was  as  earnest  all  in  a 
moment  as  lie  had  been  listless.  A 
continental  cynic  had  dubbed  this  in- 
sular cynic  mad. 

The  professor  of  chances  smiled  su- 
perior. "Those  tilings  decide  each 
individual  race,  and  tlie  best  men  win, 
because  it  happens  to  be  the  only  ra(;o 
that  is  never  sold.  Hut  go  farther 
back,  and  you  find  it  is  chance.  It  is 
pure  chance  that  sends  the  best  men 
up  to  Cambridge  two  or  three  years 
running,  and  tlien  to  Oxford.  With 
this  key,  take  the  facts  my  system 
rests  on.  There  are  two.  The  first 
is  that  in  thirty  and  odtl  races  and 
matches,  tiic  university  luck  has  come 
out  equal  on  the  river  and  at  Lord's : 
2* 


the  second  is,  the  luck  has  seldom  alter- 
nated. I  don't  say,  never.  But  look 
at  the  list  of  events ;  it  is  published 
every  March.  You  may  see  there  the 
great  truth  that  even  chances  shun  di- 
rect alternation.  In  this,  properly 
worked,  lies  a  fortune  at  Homburg, 
where  the  play  is  square.  lied  gains 
once ;  you  back  red  next  time,  and 
stop.  You  are  on  black,  and  win ; 
you  double.  Tiiis  is  the  game,  if  yon 
have  only  a  few  pounds.  But  with 
five  hundred  pounds  you  can  double 
more  courageously,  and  work  the  short 
run  iiard ;  and  that  is  how  losses  are 
averted,  and  gains  secured.  Once  at 
Wiesbaden  I  caught  a  croupier,  out  on 
a  holiday.  It  was  Good-Friday,  you 
know.  I  gave  him  a  stunning  dinner. 
He  was  close  as  wax,  at  first — that 
might  be  the  salt  fish ;  but  after  the 
rognonn  a  la  brochette,  and  a  bottle  of 
Ciiampagne,  he  let  out.  I  remember 
one  thing  he  said  :  '  Monsieur,  ce  que 
fait  la  fortune  de  la  banque  ce  n'est 
pas  le  petit  avantage  quelle  tire  du  re- 
fiiit — quoique  cela  y  est  pour  quelque- 
chose— c'est  la  te'me'rite  de  ceux  qui 
perdent,  et  la  timidite'  de  ceux  (pd 
gagnent.'  And,"  says  Vizard,  "  there 
is  a  French  proverb  founded  on  ex- 
perience— 

"  C'est  encore  rouge  qui  perd, 
Et  encore  noir, 
Mais  toujours  blauc  qui  gagnc.' " 

Severne,  for  the  first  time,  looked 
angry  and  mortified  ;  he  turned  his 
back,  and  was  silent.  Vizard  looked 
at  him  uneasily,  hesitated  a  moment, 
tiien  flung  tlie  remainder  of  his  cigar 
away,  and  seemed  to  rouse  himself 
body  and  soul.  He  squared  his  shoul- 
ders, as  if  he  were  going  to  box  the  De- 
mon of  play  for  ids  friend,  and  he  let 
out  good  sense  right  and  left,  and,  in- 
deed, was  almost  betrayed  into  elo- 
(pience.  "What!"  he  cried,  "you, 
who  are  so  briglit  and  keen  and  know- 
ing in  every  thing  else,  are  you  really 
so  bliniled  by  egotism  and  credidity 
as  to  believe  that  you  can  invent  any 
method  of  betting   at   rouge   et   noir 


34 


A  WOMAN-IIATEK. 


that  has  not  been  tried  before  you 
were  horn  'i  Do  you  rcmeuiber  the 
first  word  i^  La  Bruvere's  famous 
work?" 

"No,"  said  Ned,  sulkily.  "Read 
nothing  but  newspapers." 

"Good  lad.  Saves  a  deal  of  trou- 
ble. Well,  he  begins  '  Tout  est  dit' — 
'every  thing  has  been  said  ;'  and  I  say 
that,  in  your  business,  '  Tout  est  fait' — 
'every  thing  has  been  done.'  Every 
move  has  been  tried  before  you  exist- 
ed, and  the  result  of  all  is  that  to  bet 
against  the  bank,  wildly  or  systemat- 
ically, is  to  gamble  against  a  rock. 
Si  monumenta  quceris,  circumspice. 
Use  your  eyes,  man.  Look  at  the 
Kursaal,  its  luxuries,  its  gardens,  its 
gilding,  its  attractions,  all  of  tlieni 
cheap,  except  the  one  that  pays  for  all ; 
all  tliese  delights,  and  the  rents,  and 
the  croupiers,  and  the  servants,  and 
the  income  and  liveries  of  an  un])rinci- 
pled  prince,  who  would  otlierwise  be 
a  ]ioor  but  honest  gentleman  witli  one 
bonne,  instead  of  thirty  blazing  lack- 
eys, all  come  fiom  the  gains  of  the 
bank,  which  are  the  losses  of  the  play- 
ers, especially  of  those  that  have  got  a 
system." 

Severne  shot  in,  "A  bank  was 
broken  last  week." 

"Was  it?  Then  all  it  lost  has  re- 
turned to  it,  or  will  return  to  it  to- 
night ;  for  gamblers  know  no  day  of 
rest." 

"  Oh  ves,  they  do.  It  is  shut  on 
Good-Friday."  ' 

"You  surprise  me.  Only  three 
hundred  and  si.xty-four  days  in  the 
year !  Brainless  avarice  is  more  rea- 
sonable than  I  thought.  Severne, 
3'ours  is  a  very  serious  case.  You 
have  reduced  your  income,  that  is 
clear;  for  an  English  geiuleman  does 
not  stay  years  and  years  abroad,  unless 
he  has  outrun  tlic  constable ;  and  I 
feel  sure  gambling  has  done  it.  You 
liad  the  fever  from  a  boy.  Bullington 
Green !  'As  tlie  twig's  bent  the  tree's 
inclined.'  Gome,  come,  make  a  stand. 
We  are  friends.  Let  us  help  one 
another  against  our  besetting  fuibles. 


Let  us  practice  antique  wisdom ;  let 
us  'know  ourselves,'  and  leave  Ilom- 
burg  to-morrow,  instead  of  Tuesday. " 

Severne  looked  sullen,  but  said  lujth- 
ing  ;  then  Vizard  gave  him  too  hastily 
credit  for  some  of  that  sterling  friend- 
ship, bordering  on  love,  which  warmwl 
his  own  faithful  breast:  under  this 
delusion  he  made  an  extraordinaiy 
eftbrt ;  he  used  an  argument  which, 
with  himself,  would  have  been  irresist- 
ible. "Look  here,"  said  he,  "  I'll— 
won't  you  have  a  cigar? — there;  now 
I'll  tell  you  something  :  I  have  a  ma- 
nia as  bad  as  yours ;  only  mine  is  in- 
termittent, thank  Heaven  !  I'm  told  a 
million  women  are  as  good,  or  better, 
than  a  million  men.  It  may  be  so. 
But  when  I,  an  individual,  stake  my 
heart  on  lovely  woman,  she  always 
turns  out  unworthy.  With  me,  tiic 
sex  avoids  alternntion.  Therefore  I 
rail  on  it  wholesale.  It  is  not  iihilo- 
sophical ;  but  I  don't  do  it  to  instruct 
mankind ;  it  is  to  soothe  my  spleen. 
Well — would  you  believe  it  ? — once  in 
every  three  j'ears,  in  spite  of  my  expe- 
rience, I  am  always  bitten  again.  Aft- 
er my  lucid  interval  has  expired,  I  iall 
in  with  some  woman,  who  seems  not 
like  the  rest,  but  an  angel.  Then  I, 
though  I'm  averse  to  the  sex,  fall  an 
easy,  an  immediate  victim  to  the  indi- 
vidual." 

"  Love  at  first  sight." 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it.  If  she  is  as  beau- 
tiful as  an  angel,  with  the  voice  of  a 
peacock  or  a  guinea-hen— and,  luckily 
for  me,  that  is  a  frequent  arrangement 
— she  is  no  more  to  me  than  the  fire- 
shovel.  If  she  has  a  sweet  voice  and 
pale  eyes,  I'm  safe.  Indeed,  I  am  safe 
against  Juno,  Venus,  and  Minerva  for 
two  years  and  several  months  after  the 
last;  but  when  two  events  coincide, 
when  my  time  is  up,  and  the  lovely, 
melodious  female  comes,  then  I  am 
lost.  Before  I  have  seen  her  and 
heard  her  five  minutes,  I  know  my 
fate,  and  I  never  resist  it.  I  nev- 
er can ;  that  is  a  curious  part  of  the 
mania.  Then  commences  a  little 
drama,  all  the  acts  of  which  are  stale 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


35 


copies ;  yet  each  time  they  take  me  by 
surprise,  as  if  tliey  were  new.  In  s]nte 
of  past  experience,  I  begin  all  confi- 
dence and  trust :  by-and-by  come  tlie 
subtle  but  well-known  signs  of  deceit ; 
so  doubt  is  forced  on  me  ;  and  tiien  I 
ara  all  suspicion,  and  so  darkly  vigi- 
lant that  soon  all  is  certainty ;  for  '  les 
fourberies  des  femmes '  are  diabolically 
subtle,  but  monotonous.  They  seem 
to  vary  only  on  the  surface.  One 
looks  too  gentle  and  sweet  to  give  any 
creature  pain ;  I  cherish  her  like  a 
tender  plant ;  she  deceives  me  for  the 
coarsest  fellow  she  can  find.  Another 
comes  the  frank  and  candid  dodge ; 
she  is  so  oft-handed,  she  shows  me  it 
is  not  worth  her  while  to  betray.  >She 
deceives  me,  like  the  other,  and  with 
as  little  discrimination.  The  next  has 
a  face  of  beaming  innocence,  and  a 
limpid  eye  tliat  looks  like  transparent 
candor ;  she  gazes  long  and  calmly  in 
my  face,  as  if  her  eye  loved  to  dwell 
on  me,  gazes  with  the  eye  of  a  gazelle 
or  a  young  hare,  and  the  baby  lips  be- 
low outlie  the  hoariest  male  fox  in  the 
Old  Jewry.  But,  to  complete  the  delu- 
sion, all  my  sweethearts  and  wives  arc 
romantic  and  poetical  skin-deep — or 
they  would  not  attract  me  —  and  all 
turn  out  vulgar  to  the  core.  By  their 
lovers  alone  can  you  ever  know  tliem. 
By  the  men  they  can"t  love,  and  the 
men  tliey  do  love,  you  find  these  creat- 
ures that  imitate  sentiment  so  divinely 
are  hard,  prosaic,  vulgar  little  tilings, 
thinly  gilt  and  double  varnished." 

"They  are  much  better  than  we 
are ;  but  you  don't  know  how  to  take 
them,"  said  Sevcrne,  with  the  calm  su- 
periority of  success. 

" No, "replied  Vizard, dryly,  "curse 
me  if  I  do.  Well,  I  did  hope  I  had 
outgrown  my  mania,  as  I  have  done 
the  toothache ;  for  this  time  I  had 
passed  the  fatal  period,  the  three  years. 
It  is  nearly  four  years  now  since  I  went 
through  the  established  process  —  as 
fixed  beforehand  as  the  dyer's  or  the 
cotton-weaver's  —  adored  her,  trusted 
licr  blindly,  suspected  her,  watclied 
her,  detected  her,  left  her.     By-the- 


bye,  she  was  my  wife,  the  last;  but 
that  made  no  difterence  ;  she  was  nei- 
ther better  nor  worse  than  the  rest,  and 
her  methods  and  idiotic  motives  of  de- 
ceit identical.  Well,  Ned,  I  was  mis- 
taken. Yesterday  night  I  met  my 
Fate  once  more." 

"Where?     In  Frankfort?" 

"No:  at  Homburg;  at  the  opera. 
You  must  give  me  your  word  not  to 
tell  a  soul." 

' '  I  pledge  you  my  word  of  honor." 

"  AVell,  the  lady  who  sung  the  part 
of  Siebel." 

"  Siebel?"  muttered  Severne. 

"Yes,"  said  Vizard,  dejectedly. 

Severne  fixed  his  eyes  on  his  fiiend 
with  a  strange  expression  of  confusion 
and  curiosity,  as  if  he  could  not  take 
it  all  in.  But  he  said  nothing,  only 
looked  very  hard  all  the  time. 

Vizard  burst  out,  "  '  O  misera;  homi- 
num  mentes,  o  pectora  cajca!'  Tiiere 
I  sat,  in  the  stalls,  a  happy  man  com- 
paratively, because  my  heart,  though 
full  of  scars,  was  at  peace,  and  my  rea- 
son, after  periodical  abdications,  had 
resumed  its  throne,  for  good ;  so  I, 
weak  mortal,  fancied.  Siebel  appear- 
ed ;  tall,  easy,  dignified,  and  walking 
like  a  wave ;  modest,  fair,  noble,  great, 
dreamy,  and,  above  all,  divinely  sad  ; 
the  soul  of  womanhood  and  music 
poured  from  her  honey  lips  ;  she  con- 
quered all  my  senses :  I  felt  something 
like  a  bolt  of  ice  run  down  my  back. 
I  ought  to  have  jumiicd  up,  and  fled 
the  theatre.  I  wish  I  had.  But  I  nev- 
er do.  I  am  incurable.  The  charm 
deepened ;  and  when  she  had  sung 
'Le  Barlate  d'Amor'  as  no  mortal 
ever  sung  and  looked  it,  she  left  the 
stage,  and  carried  my  heart  and  soul 
away  with  her.  What  cliance  had  I  ? 
Here  shone  all  the  beauties  that  adorn 
the  body,  all  the  virtues  and  graces 
that  embellish  tlie  soul ;  they  were 
wedded  to  poetry  and  ravisliing  mu- 
sic, and  gave  and  took  enchantment. 
I  saw  my  paragon  glide  away,  like  a 
goddess,  past  the  scenery,  and  I  did 
not  see  her  meet  her  lover  at  the  next 
step  —  a  fellow  with  a  wash-leather 


A  WOMAN-IIATEK. 


face,  greasy  locks  in  a  sausage  roll,  and 
liis  liair  shaved  off  liis  forcliead — and 
snatch  a  jiot  of  porter  from  his  hands, 
and  drain  it  to  the  dregs,  and  say,  '  It 
is  all  right,  Harry  :  that  fetched  'em.' 
But  I  know,  by  experience,  she  did ; 
so  sauve  quipeut.  Dear  friend  and  fel- 
low-lunatic, for  my  sake  and  yours, 
leave  Frankfort  with  nie  to-morrow." 

Severne  hung  his  head,  and  tiiought 
hard.  Here  was  a  new  and  wonder- 
ful turn.  He  felt  all  manner  of  strange 
things  —  a  pang  of  jealousy,  for  one. 
He  felt  that,  on  every  account,  it  would 
be  wise  to  go,  and,  indeed,  dangerous 
to  stay.  But  a  numia  is  a  nuinia,  and 
so  he  could  not.  "  Look  here,  old  fel- 
low," he  said,  "if  the  opera  were  on 
to-morrow,  I  would  leave  my  three 
hundred  behind  me,  and  sacrifice  my- 
self to  you,  sooner  than  expose  you  to 
the  fascinations  of  so  captivating  a 
woman  as  Ina  Klosking." 

"  Ina  Klosking  ?  Is  that  her  name  ? 
How  do  1J0U  know  ?'' 

"I — i — fancy  I  heard  so." 

"Why,  she  was  notannounced.  Ina 
Klosking !  It  is  a  sweet  name ;"  and 
he  sighed. 

"But  you  are  quite  safe  from  her  for 
one  day,"  continued  Severne,  "so you 
must  be  reasonable.  I  will  go  with 
you,  Tuesday,  as  early  as  you  like ; 
but  do  be  a  good  fellow,  and  let  me 
have  the  five  hiindied,  to  try  my  sys- 
tem with  to-morrow." 

Vizard  looked  sad,  and  made  no  re- 
ply. 

Severne  got  impatient.  "Why, 
what  is  it  to  a  rich  fellow  like  you  ? 
If  I  had  twelve  thousand  acics  in  a 
ring  fence,  no  friend  would  ask  me 
twice  for  such  a  trifling  sum." 

Vizard,  for  the  first  time,  wore  a 
supercilious  smile  at  being  so  mis- 
understood, and  did  not  deign  a  le- 
ply. 

Severne  went  on  mistaking  his  man  : 
"I  can  give  you  bills  for  the  money, 
and  fur  tlie  three  hundred  you  did  lend 
me." 

Vizarcf  did  not  receive  this  as  ex- 
pected.    "Bills?"  said   he,  gravely. 


"What,  do  you  do  that  sort  of  tl)ing 
as  well  ?" 

"  Why  not,  pray?  So  long  as  I'm 
the  holder,  not  the  drawer,  nor  the  ac- 
ceptor. Besides,  they  are  not  accom- 
modation bills,  but  good  commercial 
paper." 

"You  are  a  merchant,  then;  are 
you?" 

"  Yes ;  in  a  small  way.  If  you  will 
allow  me,  I  will  explain." 

He  did  so  ;  and,  to  save  comments, 
yet  enable  the  reader  to  apj)reciate  his 
explanation,  tlie  true  part  of  it  is  print- 
ed in  italics,  the  mendacious  portion 
in  ordinary  type. 

"il/y  estate  in  IluntingdonsJtire  is 
not  veri)  large  ;  and  there  are  mort- 
gagee (in  it,  for  the  benefit  of  other 
members  of  my  family.  I  was  always 
desirous  to  pay  off  these  mortgages ; 
and  took  the  best  advice  I  could.  1 
have  got  an  uncle :  he  lives  in  the  City. 
He  ])ut  me  on  to  a  good  thing.  I 
bought  a  share  in  a  trading  vessel ; 
she  makes  short  trij)s,  and  turns  her 
cargo  often.  Slie  will  take  out  pa])er 
to  America,  and  bring  back  raw  cot- 
ton :  she  will  land  that  at  Liverpool, 
and  ship  English  hardware  and  cotton 
fabrics  for  the  Mediterranean  and 
Greece,  and  bring  back  currants  from 
Zantc  and  lemons  from  Portugal. 
She  goes  for  the  nimble  shilling. 
Well,  you  know  ships  wear  out :  and 
if  you  varnish  them  rotten,  and  in- 
sure them  high,  and  they  go  to  glory. 
Air.  Plimsoll  is  down  on  you  like  a 
hatumer.  So,  when  she  had  paid  my 
purchase -money  three  times  over, 
some  fellows  in  the  City  made  an  offer 
for  The  Rover  —  that  was  her  nan\e. 
My  share  came  to  twelve  hundred,  and 
my  uncle  said  I  was  to  take  it.  Now, 
I  always  feel  bound  hy  ichat  he  decides. 
They  gave  me  four  bills,  for  four  hun- 
dred, three  hundred,  three  hundred, 
and  two  hundred.  The  four  hundred 
was  paid  at  maturity.  The  others  are 
not  due  yet.  I  have  only  to  send  them 
to  London,  and  I  can  get  the  money 
back  by  Thursday:  but  you  want  me 
to  start  on  Tuesday." 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


37 


"Tliat  is  enough,"  said  Vizard, 
wcaiil}',  "I  will  be  your  banker,  and — " 

"  You  are  a  good  fellow  I"  said  8ev- 
erne,  warmly. 

"No,  no  ;  I  aqi  a  weak  fellow,  and 
an  injudicious  one.  But  it  is  the  old 
story :  when  a  friend  asks  you  wiiat 
he  thinks  a  favor,  the  right  thing  is  to 
grant  it  at  once.  He  doesn't  want 
your  advice;  he  wants  the  one  thing 
he  asks  for.  There,  get  me  tiie  bills, 
and  I'll  draw  a  check  on  Miiller:  ller- 
ries  advised  him  by  Saturday's  post ; 
so  we  can  draw  on  Monday." 

"  All  right,  old  man,"  said  Severne, 
and  went  away  briskly  for  the  bills. 

When  he  got  from  the  balcony  into 
the  room,  his  steps  flagged  a  little ;  it 
struck  him  that  ink  takes  time  to  dry, 
and  more  time  to  darken. 

As  Tlie  Rover,  with  her  nimble  ear- 
goes,  was  first  cousin  to  The  Flying 
Dutchman,  with  his  crew  of  ghosts,  so 
the  bills  received  by  Severne,  as  pur- 
chase-money for  his  ship,  necessarily 
partook  of  that  ship's  aerial  chaiacter. 
Indeed  they  existed,  as  the  school-men 
used  to  say,  in  posse,  but  not  in  esse. 
To  be  less  pedantic  and  more  exact, 
they  existed  as  slips  of  blank  paper, 
with  a  Government  stamp.  To  give 
them  a  mercantile  character  for  a  time 
— viz.,  until  presented  for  payment — 
they  must  be  drawn  by  an  imaginary 
shi])- owner  or  a  visionary  merchant, 
and  indorsed  by  at  least  one  shadow, 
and  a  man  of  straw. 

Tiie  man  of  straw  sat  down  to  in- 
scribe self  and  shadows,  and  became  a 
dishonest  writer  of  fiction  ;  for  the  art 
ho  now  commenced  ajipears  to  fall 
short  of  forgery  ])r()])er,  but  to  be  siill 
more  distinct  from  Justiliable  fiction. 
The  ingenious  Mr.  ])e  Foe's  certificate 
by  an  aerial  justice  of  the  peace  to  the 
truth  of  his  ghostly  narrative  comes 
nearest  to  it,  in  my  ])oor  reading. 

Qualms  he  had,  but  not  deep.  If 
the  bills  were  drawn  by  Imagination, 
accepted  by  Fancy,  and  indorsed  i)y 
Imjiudencc,  what  did  it  matter  to  Ned 
Straw,  since  his  system  wouUl  enable 
him  to  redocm  them  at  maturitv  ?    His 


only  real  concern  was  to  conceal  their 
recent  origin.  So  he  wrote  them  with 
a  broad-nibbed  jjcn,  that  they  might 
be  the  blacker,  and  set  them  to  dry  in 
the  sun. 

He  then  proceeded  to  a  change  of 
toilet. 

While  thus  employed,  there  was  a 
sharp  tap  at  his  door,  and  Vizard's 
voice  outside.  Severne  started  witli 
terror,  snapped  up  the  three  bills  with 
the  dexterity  of  a  conjurer — the  han- 
dle turned  —  he  shoved  them  into  a 
drawer — Vizard  came  in — he  shut  the 
drawer,  and  panted. 

Vizard  had  followed  the  custom  of 
O.xonians  among  themselves,  which  is 
to  knock,  and  then  come  in,  unless  for- 
bidden. 

"Come," said  he,  cheerfully,  "those 
bills  :  I'm  in  a  hurry  to  cash  them  now, 
and  end  the  only  difference  we  have 
ever  had,  old  fellow." 

The  blood  left  Severne's  cheek  and 
lips  for  a  moment,  and  he  thought 
swiftly  and  hard.  The  blood  return- 
ed, along  with  his  ready  wit.  "How 
good  you  are !"  said  he :  "but  no.  It 
is  Sunday." 

"Sunday!"  ejaculated  Vizard. 
"What  is  that  to  you,  a  fellow  who 
has  been  years  abroad  ?" 

"I  can't  help  it,"  said  Severne, 
apologetically.  "I  am  sujierstitious 
— don't  like  to  do  business  on  a  Sun- 
day. I  would  not  even  slunit  at  the 
tables  on  a  Sunday — I  don't  think." 

"All,  you  are  not  quite  sure  of  that. 
There  is  a  limit  to  your  superstition ! 
Well,  will  you  listen  to  a  story  on  a 
Suiulav?''  " 

"Ratiicr!" 

"  Then,  once  on  a  time  there  was  a 
Scotch  farmer,  who  iiad  a  bonny  cow; 
and  another  farmer  coveted  her  hon- 
estly. One  Sunday  they  went  home 
together  from  kirk,  and  there  was  the 
cow  grazing.  Farmer  Two  stopped, 
eyed  her,  and  said  to  Fanner  One, 
'  Gicn  it  were  Monday,  as  it  is  the  Sab- 
ba'  day,  what  would  ye  tak'  for  your 
coow  ?'  The  other  said  the  price  would 
be  nine  iiouiuls,  if  it  were  Monday. 


38 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


And  i?o  tliey  kept  llic  Sabbath ;  and 
llie  cow  chniigod  hands,  thouj^h,  to  the 
naked  eve,  slie  grazed  on  in  situ.  Our 
negotiation  is  just  as  complete.  So 
wiuit  does  it  matter  whether  the  act- 
ual exchange  of  hills  and  cash  takes 
place  to-day  or  to-morrow?'' 

"Do  you  really  mean  to  say  it  does 
not  matter  to  you  ?"  asked  Severne. 

"  Not  one  straw." 

"Then,  as  it  does  not  matter  to 
you,  and  does  to  me,  give  me  my  fool- 
ish way,  like  a  dear  good  fellow." 

"Now,  that  is  smart,"  said  Vizard 
— "very  smart;"  then,  with  a  look  of 
parental  admiration,  "  he  gets  his  own 
way  in  every  tiling.  He  will  have 
your  money  —  he  won't  iiave  your 
money.  I  wonder  whether  he  wi/l 
consent  to  walk  those  girls  out,  and 
disburden  me  of  their  too  profitable 
discourse." 

"That  I  will,  with  pleasure." 

"Well,  they  are  at  luncheon — with 
their  bonnets  on." 

"  I  will  join  them  in  five  minutes." 

After  luncheon.  Miss  Vizard,  Miss 
Dover,  and  Mr.  Severne  started  for  a 
stroll. 

Miss  Maitland  suggested  that  Viz- 
ard should  accompany  them. 

"Couldn't  think  of  deserting  you," 
said  he,  dryly. 

The  young  ladies  giggled,  because 
these  two  rarely  opened  their  mouths 
to  agree,  one  being  a  professed  wom- 
an-hater, and  the  otiier  a  man-hater, 
in  words. 

Says  Misander,  in  a  soui'ish  way, 
"Since  you  value  my  conversation  so, 
])erhai)s  you  will  be  good  enough  not 
to  smoke  for  the  next  ten  minutes." 

Misogyn  consented,  but  sighed. 
That  sigli  went  unpitied,  and  the  lady 
wasted  no  time. 

"Do  you  see  what  is  going  on  be- 
tween your  sister  and  that  young 
man  ?" 

"  Yes  ;  a  little  flirtation." 

"A  great  deal  more  than  that.  I 
caught  tliein,  in  tliis  very  room,  mak- 
ing love." 


"You  alarm  mo,"  said  Vizard, 
with  marked  tranquillity. 

"I  saw  him — kiss — her — hand." 

"You  relieve  me,"  said  Vizard, 
as  calmly  as  be  had  been  alarmed. 
"There's  no  harm  in  that.  I've  kiss- 
ed the  queen's  hand,  and  the  nation 
did  not  rise  ui)on  me.  However,  I 
object  to  it.  The  sui)erior  sex  should 
not  jilay  the  spaniel.  I  will  tell  him 
to  drop  that.  But,  permit  me  to  say, 
all  this  is  in  your  department,  not 
mine."  , 

"  But  what  can  I  do  against  three 
of  them,  unless  you  support  me  ? 
There  you  have  let  them  go  out  to- 
gether." 

"Together  with  Fanny  Dover,  you 
mean  ?" 

"Yes;  and  if  Fanny  had  any  de- 
signs on  him,  Zoe  would  be  safe — " 

"And  poor  Ned  torn  in  two." 

"But  Fanny,  I  am  grieved  to  say, 
seems  inclined  to  assist  this  young 
man  with  Zoe ;  that  is,  because  it 
does  not  matter  to  her.  She  has  oth- 
er views — serious  ones." 

"Serious!  What?  A  nunnciy? 
Then  I  pity  my  lady  abbess." 

"  Her  views  are  plain  enough  to 
any  body  but  you." 

"Are  they?  Then  make  me  as 
wise  as  my  neighbors." 

"Well,  then,  she  means  to  marry 
you. " 

"What!  Oh,  come!— that  is  too 
good  a  joke !" 

"It  is  sober  camest.  Ask  Zoe — 
ask  your  friend,  Mr.  Severne  —  ask 
the  chamber-maids  —  ask  any  creat- 
ine \vitli  an  eye  in  its  head.  Oh,  the 
blindness  of  you  men!" 

Tiic  Misogyn  was  struck  dumb. 
When  he  recovered,  it  was  to  reinnc 
at  the  lot  of  man. 

"  Even  my  own  familiar  cousin — 
once  removed — in  whom  I  trusted ! 
I  depute  you  to  inform  her  that  I 
think  her  adorable,  and  that  matri- 
mony is  no  longer  a  habit  of  mine. 
Set  her  on  to  ]H)or  Severne ;  he  is  a 
ladies'  man,  and  '  the  more  the  mer- 
rier' is  his  creed." 


A  WOiMAN-HATER. 


39 


"Such  a,  girl  as  Fanny  is  not  to  be 
diverted  from  a  purpose  of  that  sort. 
Besides,  she  has  too  much  sense  to 
phuige  into  the  Severne  and — pauper- 
ism !  She  is  bent  on  a  rich  husband, 
not  a  needy  adventurer." 

"Madam,  in  my  friend's  name,  I 
thank  you." 

"  You  are  very  welcome,  sir — it  is 
only  the  truth."  Then,  with  a  swift 
return  to  her  original  topic:  "No; 
I  know  perfectly  well  wiiat  Fanny 
Dover  will  do  this  afternoon.  She 
sketches." 

"  It  is  too  true,"  said  Vizard,  dole- 
fully :  "showed  me  a  sliip  in  full 
sail,  and  I  praised  it  in  my  tvuy.  I 
said,  '  That  rock  is  rather  well  done.' " 

"Well,  she  will  be  seized  with  a 
desire  to  sketch.  She  will  sit  down 
apart,  and  say,  '  Please  don't  watch 
me — it  makes  me  nervous.'  The  oth- 
er two  will  take  the  hint,  and  make 
love  a  good  way  oti" ;  and  Zoc  will  go 
greater  lengths,  with  another  woman 
in  sight — but  only  just  in  sight,  and  sl}'- 
ly  encouraging  her — than  if  she  were 
quite  alone  with  her  mauvais  sujet." 

Vizard  was  ])leased  with  tiie  old 
lady. 

"This  is  sagacious,"  said  he,  "and 
shows  an  eye  for  detail.  I  recognize 
in  your  picture  tlie  foxy  sex.  But, 
at  this  moment,  who  can  foretell 
which  way  the  wind  will  blow?  You 
are  not  aware,  perhaps,  that  Zoe  and 
Fanny  have  had  a  quarrel.  They 
don't  speak.  Now,  in  women,  you 
know,  vices  are  controlled  by  vices — 
see  Pope.  The  consjiiracy  you  dread 
will  be  averted  by  the  other  faults 
of  their  character,  their  jealousy  and 
their  petulant  tempers.  Take  my 
word  for  it,  they  are  sparring  at  this 
moment :  and  that  ])oor,  silly  Severne 
meditating  and  moderating,  and  get- 
ting scratched  on  both  sides  for  try- 
ing to  be  just." 

At  this  moment  the  door  opened, 
and  Fanny  Dover  glittered  on  the 
threshold  in  Caml)ri(lge  blue. 

"There,"  said  Vizard;  "did  not 
I  tell  you?     They  are  come  home." 


"Only  me,"  said  Fanny,  gayly. 

"Where  are  the  others?"  inquired 
Miss  Maitland,  sharply. 

"Not  far  otF — only  by  the  river- 
side." 

"And  you  left  those  two  alone  !" 

"Now,  don't  be  cross,  aunt,"  cried 
Fanny,  and  limped  up  to  her.  "  These 
new  boots  are  so  tight  that  I  real- 
ly couldn't  bear  tiiem  any  longer.  I 
believe  I  shall  be  lame,  as  it  is." 

"You  ought  to  be  ashamed  of 
yourself.     What  will  the  people  say?" 

"  La !  aunt,  it  is  abroad.  One  does 
what  one  likes — out  of  I^ngland." 

"Here's  a  code  of  morals!"  said 
Vizard,  who  must  have  his  slap. 

"Nonsense,"  said  Miss  Maitland; 
"she  will  be  sure  to  meet  somebody. 
All  England  is  on  the  Khine  at  this 
time  of  the  year  ;  and,  whether  or 
no,  is  it  for  you  to  expose  that  child 
to  familiarity  with  a  person  nobody 
knows,  nor  his  family  either?  You 
are  twenty -five  years  old;  you  know 
the  world  ;  you  have  as  poor  an  opin- 
ion of  the  man  as  I  have,  or  you 
would  have  set  your  own  cap  at  him 
— you  know  you  would — and  you  have 
let  out  things  to  me  w^hen  you  were 
off  your  guard.  Fanny  Dover,  you 
are  behaving  wickedly ;  you  are  a  false 
friend  to  that  poor  girl." 

Upon  this,  lo!  the  pert  Fanny, 
hitherto  so  ready  with  her  answers, 
began  to  cry  bitterly.  The  words  real- 
ly pricked  her  conscience,  and  to  be 
scolded  is  one  thing,  to  be  severely 
and  solemnly  reproached  is  another  ; 
and  before  a  man  ! 

Tiie  ofKcial  woman-hater  was  melt- 
ed in  a  moment  by  the  saucy  girl's 
tears.  "There — there," said  he,  kind- 
ly, "have  a  little  mercy.  Ilang  it  all ! 
Don't  make  a  moinitain  of  a  mole- 
hill." 

The  official  man-hater  never  moved 
a  muscle.  "It  is  no  use  her  crying 
to  me  :  she  must  give  me  a  proof  she 
is  soiTy.  Fanny,  if  you  are  a  respect- 
able girl,  and  have  any  idea  of  being 
my  heir,  go  you  this  moment  and 
bring  them  home." 


40 


A  WOMAN-IIATKH. 


"Yes,  aunt,"  said  Fanny,  eagerly; 
and  went  otrwitli  woiuUmI'uI  alacrity. 

It  was  a  very  long  aiiaitmeiit,  full 
forty  feet;  and  while  Fanny  bustled 
down  it,  ]\Iiss  Maitland  extended  a 
skinny  linger,  like  one  of  Macbetli's 
witches,  and  directed  Vizard's  eye  to 
the  receding  figure  so  jiointedly,  that 
he  put  up  his  sjjy- glass  the  better  to 
see  the  phenomenon. 

As  Fanny  ski])ped  out  and  closed 
the  door,  Miss  Maitland  tinned  to 
Vizard,  with  lean  finger  still  pointing 
after  Fanny,  and  uttered  a  monosyl- 
lable, 

"Lamk!" 

Vizard  burst  out  laughing.  "La 
fourbe!"  said  he.  "Miss  xMaitland, 
accept  my  compliments ;  you  possess 
the  key  to  a  sex  no  fellow  can  un- 
lock. And,  now  I  have  found  an  in- 
terpreter, I  begin  to  be  interested  in 
this  little  comedy.  The  first  act  is 
just  over.  There  will  be  half  an 
hour's  wait  till  the  simulatri.K  of  in- 
firmity comes  running  back  with  the 
pilgrims  of  the  Rhine.  Are  they  '  the 
pilgrims  of  the  Rhine '  or '  the  pilgrims 
of  Love?'  Time  will  show.  ]iay  to 
recommence  with  a  verbal  encounter ; 
you  will  be  one  against  three;  for  all 
that,  I  don't  envy  the  greater  num- 
ber." 

"Three  to  one?  No.  Surely  you 
will  be  on  the  right  side  for  once." 

"  Well,  you  see,  I  am  the  audience. 
We  can't  be  all  dramdiis  persoiKi;, 
and  no  spectator.  During  the  wait, 
I  wonder  whether  the  audience,  hav- 
ing nothing  better  to  do,  may  be  per- 
mitted to  smoke  a  cigar." 

"So  long  a  lucid  interval  is  irk- 
some, of  course.  Well,  the  balcony 
is  your  smoking-room.  You  will  see 
them  coming ;  please  tap  at  my  door 
the  moment  you  do." 

Half  an  hour  elapsed,  an  hour,  and 
the  personages  required  to  continue 
the  comedy  did  not  return. 

Vizard,  having  nothing  better  to 
do,  fell  to  thinking  of  Ina  Klosking, 
Jind  that  was  not  good  for  him.  Soli- 
tude and  cnmii  fed  his  mania,  and  at 


last  it  took  the  foiTn  of  action.  He 
rang,  and  ordered  up  his  man  Harris, 
a  close,  discreet  personage,  and  direct- 
ed liim  to  go  over  to  Homburg,  and 
bring  back  all  the  information  he 
could  about  the  new  singer ;  her  ad- 
dress in  Homburg,  married  or  single, 
prude  or  co(|uette.  Should  infonna- 
tion  be  withheld,  Harris  was  to  fee 
the  porter  at  the  opera-house,  the 
waiter  at  her  hotel,  and  all  the  hu- 
man commodities  that  knew  anv 
thing  about  her. 

Having  dismissed  Harris,  he  light- 
ed his  seventh  cigar,  and  said  to  him- 
self, "Jt  is  all  Ned  Severne's  fault. 
I  wanted  to  leave  for  England  to- 
day." 

The  day  had  been  overcast  for 
some  time,  and  now  a  few  big  dro])s 
full,  by  way  of  warning.  'I'lien  it 
turned  cool:  then  came  a  light  driz- 
zling rain,  and,  in  the  middle  of  this, 
Fanny  Dover  appeared,  almost  flying 
home. 

Vizard  went  and  tapped  at  Miss 
Maitland's  door.     She  came  out. 

"  Here's  Miss  Dover  coming,  but 
she  is  alone." 

The  next  moment  Fanny  botmccd 
into  the  room,  and  started  a  little  at 
the  picture  of  the  pair  ready  to  receive 
her.  She  did  not  wait  to  be  taken  to 
task,  but  proceeded  to  avert  ccnsine 
by  volubility  and  self-praise.  "Aunt, 
I  went  down  to  the  river,  where  I  left 
them,  and  looked  all  along  it,  and  they 
were  not  in  sight.  Then  I  went  to 
the  cathedral,  because  that  seemed  the 
next  likeliest  place.  Oh,  I  have  had 
such  a  race!" 

"Why  did  you  come  back  before 
you  had  found  them?" 

"Aimf,  it  was  going  to  rain;  and 
it  is  raining  now,  hard." 

"  S/ie  does  not  mind  that." 

"Zoe?  Oh,  she  has  got  nothing 
on!" 

"Bless  me!"  cried  Vizard.  "Go- 
diva  rediviva." 

"Now,  Harrington,  don't!  Of 
course,  I  mean  nothing  to  spoil ;  onl\^ 
her   purple    alpaca,   and   that   is    two 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


41 


years  old.  But  my  blue  silk,  I  can't 
aftbrd  to  ruin  it.  Nobody  would  give 
me  anothei-,  /  know." 

' '  What  a  heartless  world ! "  said  Viz- 
ard, dryly. 

"  It  is  past  a  jest,  the  whole  thing," 
objected  Miss  Maitland  ;  "and,  now 
we  are  together,  please  tell  me,  if  you 
can,  either  of  you,  wiio  is  this  man  ? 
What  are  his  means?  I  know  'Tiie 
Peerage," The  Baronetage,'  and  '  The 
Landed  Gentry,'  but  not  Severne. 
Tiiat  is  a  river,  not  a  fomily." 

"  Oh,"  said  Vizard,  "  family  names 
•taken  from  rivers  are  never  parvenues. 
But  we  can't  all  be  down  in  Burke. 
Ned  is  of  a  good  stock,  the  old  En- 
glish yeoman,  the  country's  ])ride." 

"Yeoman!"  said  the  Maitland, 
with  sovereign  contempt. 

Vizard  resisted.  "Is  this  the  place 
to  sneer  at  an  English  yeoman,  where 
you  see  an  unprincely  jivince  living  by 
a  gambling-table  ?  What  says  the  old 
stave  ? 

"  '  A  German  prince,  a  marquis  of  Frauce, 
And  a  laird  o'  the  North  Countrie  ; 
A  ycomau  o'  Kent,  with  his  yearly  rent, 
VVould  diug  'em  out,  all  three.'  " 

"  Then,"  said  Misander,  with  a  good 
deal  of  malicious  intent,  "you  are 
quite  sure  your  yeoman  is  not  a — pnu- 
jier — an  adventurer — " 

"Positive." 

"  And  a  gambler." 

"  No  ;  1  am  not  at  all  sure  of  that. 
But  nobody  is  all-wise.  1  am  not,  for 
one.  He  is  a  fine  fellow  ;  as  good  as 
gold  ;  as  true  as  steel.  Always  polite, 
always  genial ;  and  never  speaks  ill  of 
any  of  you  behind  yotn-  backs." 

Miss  Maitland  "i)ridlcd  at  tliat. 
"What  I  have  said  is  not  out  of  dis- 
like to  the  young  man.  I  am  warn- 
ing a  brother  to  take  a  little  more  care 
of  iiis  sister,  that  is  all.  However, 
after  your  sneer,  I  shall  say  no  more 
behind  Mr.  Severnc"s  back,  but  to  lii^^ 
face — that  is,  if  we  ever  see  his  face 
again,  or  Zoe's  either." 

"Oh,  aunt  I"  said  Fanny,  reproacli- 
fiilly.    "It  is  only  the  rain.    La!  poor 


things,  they  will  bo  wet  to  the  skin. 
Just  see  how  it  is  pouring!" 

' '  That  it  is :  and  let  me  tell  you  there 
is  nothing  so  dangerous  as  a  tete-a-tete 
in  the  rain." 

"A  thunder-storm  is  worse,  aunt," 
said  Fanny,  eagerly,  "because  then 
she  is  frightened  to  death,  and  clings 
to  him — if  he  is  nice." 

Having  galloped  into  this  revela- 
tion, through  speaking  first  and  think- 
ing afterward,  Fanny  pulled  up  short 
the  moment  the  words  were  out,  and 
turned  red,  and  looked  askant,  under 
her  pale  lashes,  at  Vizard.  Observ- 
ing several  twinkles  in  his  eyes,  she 
got  up  hastily,  and  said  she  really 
must  go  and  dry  her  gown. 

"Yes,"  said  Miss  Maitland ;  "come 
into  my  room,  dear." 

Fanny  complied,  with  rather  a  rue- 
ful face,  not  doubting  that  the  public 
"dear "was  to  get  it  rather  hot  iu 
private. 

Her  uneasiness  was  not  lessened 
when  the  old  maid  said  to  her,  grimly, 
"Now,  sit  you  down  tliere,  and  never 
mind  your  dress." 

However,  it  came  rather  mildly, 
after  all.  "Fanny,  you  are  not  a  bad 
girl,  and  you  have  shown  you  were 
sorry;  so  I  am  not  going  to  be  hard 
on  you  :  only  you  must  be  a  good  girl 
now,  and  help  me  to  undo  the  mis- 
chief, and  then  I  will  forgive  you." 

"Aunt,"  said  Fanny,  piteously,  "I 
am  older  than  she  is,  and  I  know  I 
have  done  rather  wrong,  and  I  won't 
do  it  any  more ;  but  pray,  pray,  don't 
ask  me  to  be  unkind  to  her  to-day  ;  it 
is  brooch-day." 

JMiss  ^laitland  only  stared  at  this 
obscure  announcement :  so  Fanny  had 
to  ex]ilaiu  that  Zoe  and  she  had  tiffed, 
and  made  it  up,  and  Zoe  had  given 
her  a  brooch.  Hereupon  she  went 
for  it,  and  both  ladies  forgot  the  tojiic 
they  were  on,  and  every  other,  to  ex- 
amine the  brooch. 

"Aunt,"  says  Fanny,  handling  the 
brooch,  and  eying  it,  "you  were  a 
poor  girl,  like  me,  before  grandpapa 
left  you  the  money,  and  you  know  it 


42 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


is  just  as  well  to  have  a  tifi"  now  and 
then  with  a  rich  one,  because,  when 
you  kiss  and  make  it  up,  j'ou  .always 
get  some  reconciliation-thing  or  otli- 
er." 

I\Iiss  IMaitland  dived  into  the  past 
and  nodded  aii])roval. 

Tims  encouraged,  Fanny  proceeded 
to  more  modern  rules.  IShe  let  Miss 
Maitlaiid  know  it  was  always  under- 
stood at  her  school  tiuit  on  these  occa- 
sions of  tiff,  reconciliation,  and  pres- 
ent, tlie  girl  who  received  tlie  pres- 
ent was  to  side  in  every  thing  with 
llie  girl  wlio  gave  it,  for  that  one  day. 
"  Tliat  is  the  real  reason  I  put  on  my 
tight  boots — to  earn  my  bi'ooch.  Isn't 
it  a  duck?" 

''Are  they  tight,  then?" 

"  Awfully.     ISee — new  on  to-day." 

"J5ut  you  could  shake  off  your 
lameness  in  a  moment." 

"La,  aunt,  yon  know  one  can  fight 
with  that  sort  of  tiling,  or  figlit  ac/ain.st 
it.  It  is  like  colds,  and  headaclies, 
and  fevers,  and  all  tliat.  You  are  in 
bed,  too  ill  to  see  any  Ijody  you  don't 
much  care  for.  JS'ight  comes,  and 
then  you  jump  np  and  dress,  and  go 
to  a  ball,  and  leave  your  cold  and 
your  fever  behind  you,  because  the 
ball  won't  wait  till  you  are  well,  and 
tlie  bores  will.  So  don't  ask  me  to  be 
unkind  to  Zoe,  brooch-day,"  said  Fan- 
ny, skipping  back  to  her  tirst  position 
with  singular  jiertinacity. 

"  Now,  Fanny,"  said  Miss  ^Maitland, 
"who  wants  you  to  be  unkind  to  her  ? 
But  you  must  and  shall  promise  me 
not  to  lend  her  any  more  downright 
encouragement,  and  to  watch  the  man 
well." 

"I  promise  that  faithfully,"  said 
Fanny  —  an  adroit  concession,  since 
she  had  been  watching  him  like  a  cat 
a  mouse  for  many  days. 

"Tiien  you  are  a  good  girl;  and, 
to  reward  you,  I  will  tell  you  in  con- 
fidence all  the  strange  stories  I  have 
discovered  to-day." 

"  Oh,  do,  aunt  I"'  cried  Fanny  ;  and 
now  her  eyes  began  to  sparkle  with 
curiosity. 


Miss  Maitland  then  hid  her  ob- 
serve that  the  bedroom  window  was 
not  a  French  casement,  but  a  double- 
sash  window — closed  at  present  be- 
cause of  the  rain ;  but  it  had  been 
wide  open  at  the  top  all  the  time. 

"  Those  two  were  smoking,  and 
talking  secrets;  and,  child,"  said  the 
old  lady,  very  impressively,  "if  you 
— want — to — know — what  gentlemen 
really  are,  you  must  be  out  of  sight, 
and  listen  to  them,  smoking.  When 
I  was  a  girl,  the  gentlemen  came  out 
in  their  true  colors  over  their  wine. 
Now  they  are  as  close  as  wax,  drink- 
ing ;  and  even  when  they  are  tipsy 
they  keep  tiieir  secrets.  But  once  let 
them  get  by  themselves  and  smoke, 
the  very  air  is  soon  filled  with  scanda- 
lous secrets  none  of  the  lailies  in  the 
house  ever  dreamed  of.  Their  real 
characters,  their  true  histories,  and 
their  genuine  sentiments,  are  locked 
up  like  that  genius  in  'The  Arabian 
Nights,'  and  come  out  in  smoke  as  he 
did."  The  old  lady  chuckled  at  her 
own  wit,  and  the  young  one  laughed 
to  humor  her.  "  Well,  my  dear, 
those  two  smoked,  and  revealed  them- 
selves— their  real  selves ;  and  I  listen- 
ed and  heard  every  word  on  the  top 
of  those  drawers.'' 

Fanny  looked  at  the  drawers. 
They  were  high. 

"La,  aunt!  however  did  you  get 
up  there  ?" 

"By  a  chair." 

"Oh,  fancy  you  perched  up  there, 
listening,  at  your  age!" 

"You  need  not  keep  throwing  my 
age  in  my  teeth.  I  am  not  so  very 
old.  Only  I  don't  paint  and  whiten 
and  wear  false  hair.  There  are  plen- 
ty of  coquettes  about,  ever  so  much 
older  than  I  am.  I  have  a  great 
mind  not  to  tell  you  ;  and  then  much 
you  will  ever  know  about  either  of 
these  men!" 

"Oh,  aunt,  don't  be  cruel!  I  am 
dying  to  hear  it." 

As  aunt  was  equally  dying  to  tell 
it,  she  passed  over  the  skit  upon  her 
age,  though  she  did  not  forget  nor 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


43 


forgive  it ;  and  repeated  the  whole 
conversation  of  Vizard  and  Severne 
with  rare  fidelity ;  but,  as  I  abhor 
what  the  evangelist  calls  "battolo- 
gy,"  and  Shakspeare  *'  damnable  iter- 
ation," I  must  draw  upon  the  intelli- 
gence of  the  reader  (if  any),  and  he 
must  be  pleased  to  imagine  the  whole 
dialogue  of  those  two  unguarded 
smokers  repeated  to  Fanny,  and  in- 
terrupted, commented  on  at  every  sa- 
lient point,  scrutinized,  sifted,  dissect- 
ed, and  taken  to  pieces  by  two  keen 
women,  sharp  by  nature,  and  sharper 
now  by  collision  of  tlieir  heads.  No 
candor,  no  tolerance,  no  allowance  for 
human  weakness,  blunted  the  scalpel 
in  their  dexterous  hands. 

Oh,  Gossip !  delight  of  ordinary 
souls,  and  more  delightful  still  when 
you  furnish  food  for  detraction ! ! ! 

To  Fanny,  in  particular,  it  was  ex- 
citing, ravishing,  .and  the  time  flew 
by  so  unheeded  that  presently  there 
came  a  sharp  knock,  and  an  impa- 
tient voice  cried,  "  Chatter!  chatter! 
chatter!  How  long  are  we  to  be 
kept  waiting  for  dinner,  all  of  us  ?" 


CHAPTER  VI. 

At  the  very  commencement  of  the 
confabulation,  so  barbarously  inter- 
rupted before  it  had  lasted  two  hours 
and  a  half,  the  Misogyn  rang  the  bell, 
and  asked  for  Rosa,  Zoe's  maid. 

She  came,  and  he  ordered  her  to 
have  up  a  Ijasket  of  wood,  and  light 
a  roaring  fire  in  her  mistress's  room, 
and  put  out  garments  to  air.  He 
also  inquired  tlie  number  of  Zoe's 
bedroom.  Tiie  girl  said  it  was  "No. 
74." 

The  Misogyn  waited  half  an  hour, 
and  then  visited  "No.  7I-."  He  found 
the  fire  burned  down  to  one  log,  and 
some  things  airing  at  tiie  fire,  as  do- 
mestics air  their  employers'  things, 
but  not  their  own,  you  m;iy  be  sure. 
Tliere  was  a  chemise  carefully  folded 
into   the  smallest  possible   compass, 


and  doubled  over  a  horse  at  a  good 
distance  from  the  cold  fire.  Thei'e 
were  other  garments  and  supplemeut- 
aries,  all  treated  in  the  same  way. 

The  Misogyn  looked,  and  remarked 
ed  as  follows,  "  Idiots!  at  every  thing 
but  taking  in  the  men." 

Having  relieved  his  spleen  with  this 
courteous  and  comprehensive  observa- 
tion, he  piled  log  upon  log  till  the  fire 
was  half  up  the  chimney.  Then  he 
got  all  the  chairs,  and  made  a  semi- 
circle, and  spread  out  the  various  gar- 
ments to  the  genial  heat ;  and  so  close 
that,  had  a  spark  flown,  they  would 
have  been  warmed  with  a  vengeance, 
and  the  superiority  of  the  male  intel- 
lect demonstrated.  This  done,  he  re- 
tired, with  a  guilty  air  ;  for  he  did  not 
want  to  be  caught  meddling  in  such 
frivolities  by  Miss  Dover  or  Miss 
Maitland.  However,  he  was  quite 
safe ;  those  superior  spirits  were 
wholly  occupied  with  the  loftier  things 
of  the  mind,  especially  the  characters 
of  their  neighbors. 

I  must  now  go  for  these  truants 
tliat  are  giving  every  body  so  much 
trouble. 

When  Fanny  Ml  lame,  .and  said 
she  was  very  sorry,  but  she  must  go 
home  and  change  her  boots,  Zoe  was 
for  going  home  too.  But  Fanny, 
doubting  her  sincerity,  was  perempto- 
ry, and  said  they  had  only  to  stroll 
slowly  on,  and  then  turn  ;  she  should 
meet  them  coming  back.  Zoe  color- 
ed high,  suspecting  they  had  seen  the 
last  of  this  ingenious  young  lady. 

"What  a  good  girl!"  cried  Sev- 
erne. 

"  I  am  afraid  she  is  a  very  naughty 
girl,"  said  Zoe,  faintly;  anil  tiie  first 
efiect  of  Fanny's  retreat  was  to  make 
her  a  great  deal  more  reserved  and 
less  s])riglitly. 

Severne  observed,  and  understood, 
and  saw  he  must  give  lier  time.  He 
was  so  respectful,  as  M-ell  as  tender, 
tiiat,  by  degrees,  she  came  out  again, 
and  beamed  with  youth  and  hajipiness. 

Tliey  strolled  very  slowly  by  tlie 
fair  river,  and  the  pretty  little  noth- 


44 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


ings  they  said  to  ench  other  began  to 
bo  mere  vehicles  for  those  soft  tones 
and  looks,  in  wliicli  love  is  miule,  far 
more  tlian  by  the  words  themselves. 

When  tliey  started  on  this  Malk, 
Severne  had  no  distinct  nor  serious 
views  on  Zoe.  But  he  had  been  i)lay- 
ing  with  fire  for  some  time,  and  so 
now  he  got  well  burned. 

Walking  slowly  by  his  side,  and 
conscious  of  being  wooed,  whatever 
the  words  might  be,  Zoe  was  loneli- 
er than  ever.  Those  lowered  lashes, 
that  mantling  cheek,  those  soft,  ten- 
der murmurs,  told  him  he  was  dear, 
and  tlirilled  his  heart,  tliough  a  cold 
one  compared  with  hers. 

lie  was  in  love ;  as  mucli  as  he 
could  be,  and  more  than  he  had  ever 
been  before.  He  never  even  asked 
himself  whether  permanent  happiness 
was  likely  to  s])ring  from  this  love  : 
lie  was  self-indulgent,  reckless,  and 
in  love. 

lie  looked  at  her,  wislied  he  could 
recall  his  whole  life,  and  sighed. 

"Why  do  you  sigh?"  said  she, 
gently. 

"I  don't  know.  Yes,  I  do.  Be- 
cause I  am  not  happy." 

"Not  happy?"  said  she.  "You 
ought  to  be ;  and  I  am  sure  you  de- 
serve to  be." 

"  I  don't  know  tliat.  However,  I 
think  I  shall  be  liappier  in  a  few  min- 
utes, or  else  very  unhappy  indeed. 
That  depends  on  you." 

"On  me,  Mr.  Severne?"  and  she 
blushed  crimson,  and  her  bosom  be- 
gan to  heave.  His  words  led  her  to 
expect  a  declaration  and  a  proposal 
of  marriage. 

He  saw  her  mistake  ;  and  her  emo- 
tion spoke  so  plaiidy  and  sweetly,  and 
tried  him  soj  that  it  cost  him  a  great 
eftbrt  not  to  clasp  her  in  his  arms. 
But  that  was  not  his  cue  at  present. 
He  lowered  his  eyes,  to  give  her  time, 
and  said,  sadly,  "I  can  not  help  see- 
ing that,  somehow,  tliere  is  suspicion 
ill  the  air  about  me.  IMiss  Maitland 
puts  questions,  and  drops  hints.  Miss 
Dover  watches  me  like  a  lynx.     Even 


you  gave  me  a  hint  the  other  day  that 
I  never  talk  to  you  about  my  relations, 
and  my  past  life." 

"Pray  do  not  confound  me  witli 
otlier  ))cople,"  said  Zoe,  jiroudly.  "  If 
I  am  curious,  it  is  because  I  know  you 
must  have  done  many  good  things,  and 
clever  tilings ;  but  you  have  too  little 
vanity,  or  too  much  pride,  to  tell  tliem 
even  to  one  who  —  esteems  you,  and 
could  appreciate." 

"I  know  you  are  as  generous  and 
noble  as  most  people  are  narrow-mind- 
ed," said  Severne,  enthusiastically; 
"and  I  have  determined  to  tell  you 
all  about  myself." 

Zoe's  cheeks  beamed  with  gratified 
pride,  and  her  eyes  sparkled. 

"Only,  as  I  would  not  tell  it  to  any 
body  but  you,  I  must  stipulate  that  you 
will  receive  it  in  sacred  confidence,  and 
not  repeat  it  to  a  living  soul." 

"Not  even  to  my  brother,  who  loves 
you  so  ?" 

"Not  even  to  him." 

Tliis  alarmed  the  instinctive  delioti- 
cy  and  modesty  of  a  truly  virgin  soul. 

"I  am  not  experienced,"  said  she. 
"But  I  feel  I  ought  not  to  yield  to 
curiosity,  and  hear  from  you  any  tiling 
I  am  forbidden  to  tell  my  brother. 
You  might  as  well  say  I  must  not  tell 
my  mother ;  for  dear  Harrington  is  all 
the  mother  I  have;  and  I  am  sure  he 
is  a  true  friend  to  you  "  (this  hist  a  lit- 
tle reproachfully). 

But  for  Severne's  habitual  self-com- 
mand, he  would  have  treated  this  del- 
icacy as  ridiculous  prudery ;  but  lie 
was  e(iual  to  greater  dilKculties. 

"  You  are  right,  by  instinct,  in  ev- 
ery thing.  Well,  then,  I  shall  tell 
you,  and  you  shall  see  at  once  whether 
it  ought  to  be  repeated,  or  to  remain 
a  sacred  deposit  between  me  and  the 
only  creature  I  have  the  courage  to 
telfit  to."' 

Zoe  lowered  her  eyes,  and  marked 
the  sand  with  her  jjarasol.  She  was 
a  little  puz/led  now,  and  half  con- 
scious that,  somehow,  he  was  tying  her 
to  secrecy  with  silk  instead  of  rojjc ; 
but  she  never  suspected  the  deliberate 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


45 


art  and  dexterity  with  which  it  was 
done. 

Severne  then  made  the  revelation, 
which  lie  had  been  preparing  for  a  day 
or  two  past;  and,  to  avoid  eternal 
comments  by  the  author,  I  must  once 
more  call  in  the  artful  aid  of  the  print- 
ers. The  true  part  of  Mr.  Severne's 
revelation  is  iu  italics  ;  the  false  in  or- 
dinaiy  ty]ie. 

"  When  VI 1/  father  died,  I  inherited 
an  estate  in  Huntinr/donshire.     It  was 
not  so  large  as   Vizards,  but  it  was 
clear.      Not   a  mortgage  nor  incum- 
brance on  it.     1  had  a  younger  broth- 
er;  a  fellow  with  charming  manners, 
and  very  accomplished.     These  were 
his  ruin :  he  got  into  high  society  in 
London  ;  but  high  society  is  not  always 
good  society.     He  became  connected 
with  a  fast  lot,  some  of  tlie  young  no- 
bility.    Of  course  he  could  not  vie  with 
them.     He  got  deeply  iu  debt.     Not 
but  what  they  were  in  debt  too,  every 
one  of  them.     He  used  to  send  to  me 
for  money  oftencr  than  I  liked  ;  but  I 
never  suspected  the  rate  he  was  going 
at.     I  was  anxious,  too,  about  him ; 
but  I  said  to  myself  he  was  just  sow- 
ing his  wild  oats,  like  otiier  fellows. 
Well,  it  went  on,  until — to  his  misfort- 
imc,  and  mine — he  got  entangled  in 
some    disgraceful    transactions ;     the 
general  features  arc  known  to  all  tlie 
world.     I  dare  say  you  have  heard  of 
one  or  two  young  noblemen  wlio  com- 
mitted forgeries  on  their  relations  and 
friends  some  years  ago.     One  of  them, 
the  son  of  an  earl,  took   his  sister's 
ti'lwle  fortune  out  of  her  bank-,  with  a 
single  forged  check.      I  believe  the 
sum  total  of  his  forgeries  ivas  over  one 
hundred  thousand  ])ounds.     His  father 
could  not  find    half  the  money.     A 
number  of  the  nobility  had  to  combine 
to  repurchase  the  documents  ;  many  of 
them  were  in  the  ha7ids  of  the  Jews ; 
and  I  believe  a  cotnjiosilion  ivas  ef- 
fected, with  the  help  of  a  very  jiower- 
ful  barrister,  an  M.  P.     He  icent  out 
of  his  line  on  this  occasion,  and  medi- 
ated between  the  parlies.     What  will 
you  think  when  I  tell  you  that  my 


brother,  the  son  of  my  fiither  and  my 
mother,  was  one  of  these  forgers — a 
criminal  ?" 

"My  poor  friend  !"  cried  Zoe,  clasp- 
ing her  innocent  hands. 

"It  was  a  thunder-clap.  I  had  a 
great  mind  to  wash  my  hands  of  it, 
and  let  him  go  to  prison.  But  how 
could  I  ?  The  struggle  ended  in  my 
doing  like  the  rest.  Only  poor,  I  had 
no  noble  kinsmen  with  long  purses  to 
help  me,  and  no  solicitor -general  to 
mediate  sub  rosd.  Tlie  total  amount 
would  have  swamjied  my  family  acres. 
I  got  them  down  to  sixty  per  cent.,  and 
that  only  cripi)led  my  estate  forever. 
As  for  my  brother,  he  fell  on  his  knees 
to  me.  But  I  could  not  forgive  him. 
He  left  the  country  ivilh  a  hundred 
pounds  I  gave  him.  He  is  in  Cana- 
da ;  and  only  known  there  as  a  most 
respectable  farmer.  He  talks  of  pay- 
ing me  back.  That  I  shall  believe 
when  I  see  it.  All  I  know  for  certain 
is  that  his  crime  has  mortgaged  my 
estate,  and  left  me  poor — and  suspect- 
ed." 

While  Severne  related  this,  there 
passed  a  somewhat  notable  thing  in 
the  world  of  mind.  The  inventor  of 
this  history  did  not  understand  it ;  the 
hearer  did,  and  accompanied  it  with 
innocent  sympathetic  sighs.  Her  im- 
agination, more  powerful  and  precise 
tlian  the  inventor's,  pictured  the  horror 
of  the  high-minded  brother,  his  agony, 
his  shame,  his  respect  for  law  and 
honesty,  his  pity  for  his  own  flesh  and 
blood,  his  struggle,  and  the  final  tri- 
umph of  fraternal  affection.  Every 
Hue  of  the  figment  was  alive  to  her, 
and  she  realized  the  tale.  Severne 
only  repeated  it. 

At  tlie  last  touch  of  his  cold  art,  the 
warm-hearted  girl  could  contain  no 
longer. 

"  Oh,  poor  Mr.  Severne !"  she  cried ; 
"poor  i\Ir.  Severne!"  And  the  tears 
ran  down  licr  cheeks. 

He  looked  at  her  first  with  a  little 
astonishment — fancy  taking  his  little 
narrative  to  heart  like  tliat — tiien  with 
compunction,  and  then  witli  a  moment- 


40 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


my  horror  at  himself,  and  terror  at 
the  impassable  gulf  lixed  between  them, 
by  iierrare  goodness  and  his  depravity. 

Then  for  a  moment  lie  felt,  and 
felt  all  manner  of  things  at  once. 
"Oh,  don't  cry,"  he  blurted  out,  and 
began  to  blubber  himself  at  having 
made  her  cry  at  all,  and  so  unfairly. 
It  was  his  lucky  hour ;  this  hysterical 
cd'usion,  undignified  by  a  single  grain 
of  active  contrition,  or  even  penitent 
resolve,  told  in  his  favor.  They  min- 
gled their  tears ;  and  hearts  can  not 
hold  aloof  when  tears  come  together. 
Yes,  they  mingled  their  tears,  and  the 
crocodile  tears  were  tiie  male's,  if  yon 
l)lease,  and  the  woman's  tears  were 
pure  holy  drops,  that  angels  might  have 
gatliered,  and  carried  them  to  God  for 
pearls  of  the  human  soul. 

After  they  had  cried  together  over 
the  cool  figment,  Zoe  said  :  "  I  do  not 
repent  my  curiosity  now.  You  did 
well  to  tell  me.  Oh  no,  you  were 
right,  and  I  will  never  tell  any  body. 
People  are  narrow  -  minded.  They 
shall  never  cast  your  brother's  crime 
in  your  teeth,  nor  your  own  losses  1 
esteem  you  for — oii,  so  much  more 
than  ever !  I  wonder  you  could  tell 
me." 

"You  would  not  wonder  if  you 
knew  how  superior  you  are  to  all  the 
world  :  how  noble,  how  generous,  and 
how  I—" 

"Oh,  ]\rr.  Severne,  it  is  going  to 
rain!  AVc  must  get  home  as  fast  as 
ever  we  can." 

They  turned,  and  Zoe,  with  true 
virgin  coyness,  and  elastic  limlis,  ma<le 
the  coming  rain  an  excuse  for  such 
swift  walking  that  Severne  could  not 
make  tender  love  to  her.  To  l)e  sure, 
Apollo  ran  after  J)a))hne,  with  his  lit- 
tle proposals ;  but,  I  take  it,  he  ran 
mute — till  he  found  he  couldn't  catch 
her.  Indeed,  it  was  as  much  as  Sev- 
erne could  do  to  keep  nj)  witli  her 
"fair  heel  and  toe."  Ihit  I  ascribe 
this  to  her  not  wearing  high  heels 
ever  since  Fanny  told  her  she  was  just 
a  little  too  tall,  and  she  was  novice 
enough  to  believe  iier. 


She  would  not  sto])  for  the  drizzle ; 
but  at  last  it  came  down  with  such  a 
vengeance,  that  she  was  persuaded  to 
leave  the  path  and  run  for  a  cattle- 
siicd  at  some  distance.  Here  she  and 
Severne  were  imprisoned.  I^uckily 
for  them  "  the  k3e  had  not  come 
hame,"  and  the  shed  was  emjity. 
Tiiey  got  into  the  farthest  corner  of  it ; 
for  it  was  all  oi)cn  toward  the  river; 
and  the  rain  jjattered  on  the  roof  as 
if  it  would  break  it. 

Tims  driven  together,  was  it  won- 
derful that  soon  her  hand  was  in  his, 
and  that,  as  they  purred  together,  and 
murmured  soft  nothings,  more  than 
once  she  was  siu'piised  into  returning 
the  soft  pressure  which  he  gave  it  so 
often  ? 

The  plump  declaration  she  had  fled 
from,  and  now  seemed  deliciously  re- 
signed to,  did  not  actually  come.  But 
he  did  what  she  valued  more,  he  re- 
sumed his  confidences:  told  her  he 
had  vices;  was  fond  of  gambling. 
Excused  it  on  the  score  of  his  loss  by 
his  brother;  said  he  hoped  soon  to 
hear  good  news  from  Canada ;  didn't 
despair ;  Mas  ha])])y  now,  in  sjiite  of 
all ;  had  been  ha])]iy  ever  since  he  had 
met  fier.  What  declaration  was  need- 
ed ?  Tlie  understanding  was  com- 
plete. Neither  doubted  the  other's 
love;  and  Zoe  would  have  thought 
herself  a  faithless,  wicked  girl,  if,  aft- 
er this,  she  had  gone  and  accepted 
any  other  man. 

JJut  presently  she  had  a  misgiving, 
and  looked  at  her  watch.  Yes,  it 
wanted  but  one  hour  to  dinner.  Now, 
her  brotlier  was  rather  a  Tartar  about 
l)unctiiality  at  dinner.  She  felt  slie 
was  already  in  tlaiiger  of  censure  for 
her  long  tcte-ii-  tctc  with  Severne, 
though  the  rain  was  the  culprit.  She 
could  not  afford  to  draw  every  eye 
uj)on  her  by  being  late  for  dinner  along 
witli  him. 

Siie  told  Severne  they  must  go  home 
now,  rain  or  no  rain,  and  she  walked 
resolutely  out  into  the  weather. 

Severne  did  not  like  it  at  all,  but 
lie  was  wise  enough  to  deplore  it  only 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


47 


on  her  account ;  and  indeed  lier  light 
alpaca  was  soon  drenched,  and  began 
to  cling  to  her. 

But  the  spirited  girl  only  laughed 
at  his  condolences,  as  she  hurried  on. 
"Why,  it  is  only  warm  water,"  said 
she;  "this  no  more  than  a  bath  in 
the  summer  sea.  Bathing  is  getting 
wet  through  in  blue  flannel.  Well,  I 
am  bathing  in  blue  alpaca." 

"  But  it  will  ruin  your  dress." 

"My  dress!  Why,  it  is  as  old  as 
the  hills.  When  I  get  home  I'll  give 
it  to  Itosa,  ready  waslied — lia-ha!" 

The  rain  pelted  and  ])Oured,  and 
long  before  they  reached  tlie  inn,  Zoe's 
dress  had  become  an  external  cuticle, 
an  alpaca  skin. 

But  innocence  is  sometimes  very 
bold.  She  did  not  care  a  bit ;  and, 
to  tell  the  truth,  she  had  little  need  to 
care.  Beauty  so  positive  as  hers  is 
indomitable.  The  petty  accidents 
that  are  tlie  terrors  of  homely  charms 
seem  to  enliance  Queen  Beauty.  Di- 
sheveled hair  adorns  it:  close  bound 
hair  adorns  it.  Simplicity  adorns  it. 
Diamonds  adorn  it.  Every  thing  seems 
to  adorn  it,  because,  the  truth  is,  it 
adorns  every  thing.  And  so  Zoe, 
drenched  with  rain,  and  her  dress  a 
bathing-gown,  was  only  a  Greek  god- 
dess tinted  blue,  her  bi:st  and  slionl- 
ders  and  her  molded  figure  covered, 
yet  revealed.  What  was  she  to  an 
artist's  eye?  Just  the  Townly  Venus 
with  her  sculptor's  cunning  draperies, 
and  Juno's  gait. 

"Et  vera  incessa  patuit  Dea." 

When  she  got  to  the  hotel  she  held 
up  her  finger  to  Severne  with  a  pretty 
peremptoriness.  She  had  shown  him 
so  much  tenderness,  slie  felt  she  had  a 
right  to  order  him  now  :  "I  must  beg 
of  you, "said  she,  "to  go  straight  to 
your  rooms  and  dress  very  (piickly,  and 
present  yourself  to  Harrington  five 
minutes  before  dinner  at  least." 

"  I  will  obey,'  said  lie,  obsequiously. 

That  pleased  her,  and  slie  kissed  her 
hand  to  him,  and  scudded  to  her  own 
room. 


At  sight  of  the  blazing  fire  and 
provident  preparations,  she  started, 
and  said,  aloud,  "Oh,  how  nice  of 
them ! "  and,  all  dripping  as  she  was, 
she  stood  there  with  her  young  heart 
in  a  double  glow. 

Such  a  nature  as  hers  has  too  little 
egotism  and  low-bred  vanity  to  under- 
value worthy  love.  The  infinite  heart 
of  a  Zoe  Vizard  can  love  but  one  with 
passion,  yet  ever  so  many  more  with 
warm  and  tender  affection. 

She  gave  Aunt  Maitland  credit  for 
this  provident  affection.  It  was  out 
of  the  sprightly  Fanny's  line ;  and  she 
said  to  herself,  "Dear  old  thing! 
there,  I  thought  she  was  bottling  up  a 
lecture  for  me,  and  all  the  time  her 
real  anxiety  was  lest  I  should  be  wet 
through."  Thereupon  she  settled  in 
her  mind  to  begin  loving  Aunt  Mait- 
land from  that  hour.  She  did  not 
ring  for  her  maid  till  she  was  nearly 
dressed,  and,  when  Bosa  came  and  ex- 
claimed at  the  condition  of  her  cast-oft" 
robes,  she  laughed,  and  told  her  it  was 
nothing — the  lihine  was  nice  and  warm 
— pretending  she  had  been  in  it.  She 
ordered  her  to  dry  the  dress,  and  iron  it. 

"Why,  la,  miss;  you'll  never  wear 
it  again,  to  be  sure?"  said  Kosa,  de- 
murely. 

"I  don't  know,"  said  the  young 
lady,  archly;  "but  I  mean  to  take 
great  care  of  it,"  and  burst  out  laugh- 
ing like  a  peal  of  silver  bells,  because 
she  was  in  high  spirits,  and  saw  what 
Kosa  would  be  at. 

Give  away  the  gown  she  had  been 
wooed  and  wet  through  in — no,  thank 
you !  Such  gowns  as  these  be  land- 
marks, my  masters. 

Vizard,  unconscious  of  her  arrival, 
was  walking  up  and  down  the  room, 
fidgeting  more  and  more,  when  in 
came  Zoe,  dressed  high  in  black  silk 
and  white  lace,  looking  ever  so  cozy, 
and  blooming  like  a  rose. 

"What!"said  he;  "in,  and  dress- 
ed." He  took  her  by  the  shoulders, 
and  gave  her  a  great  kiss.  "Yon 
yoimg  monkey!"'  said  he,  "I  was 
afraid  you  were  washed  away." 


48 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


Zoo  suggested  tliat  woiiUl  only  have 
been  Ji  woman  obliterated. 

"That  is  true,"  said  he,  with  an 
air  of  hearty  conviction.  "I  forgot 
that." 

He  then  inquired  if  she  had  had  a 
nice  walk. 

"  Uh,  beautifull  Imprisoned  half 
the  time  in  a  cow- shed,  and  then 
drenciied.  But  I'll  have  a  nice  walk 
with  you,  dear,  up  and  down  the 
room." 

"Come  on,  then." 

So  she  put  her  right  hand  on  his 
left  slioulder,  and  gave  him  her  left 
hand,  and  they  walked  u[>  and  down 
the  room,  Zoe  beaming  with  happi- 
ness and  artection  for  every  body,  and 
walking  at  a  graceful  bend. 

iSevcrne  came  in,  dressed  and  ])er- 
fect  as  though  just  taken  out  of  a 
bandbox.  He  sat  down  at  a  little 
table,  and  read  a  little  journal  unob- 
trusively. It  was  his  cue  to  divest  his 
late  tete-a-tete  of  public  importance. 

Then  came  dinner,  and  two  of  the 
party  absent.  Vizard  heard  their 
voices  going  like  mill- clacks  at  this 
sacred  hour,  and  summoned  them 
rather  roughly,  as  stated  above.  His 
back  was  to  Zoe,  and  she  rubbed  her 
liands  gayly  to  Severne,  and  sent  him 
a  flying  whisper:  "Oh,  what  fim ! 
We  are  the  culprits,  and  they  are  the 
ones  scolded." 

Dinner  waited  ten  minutes,  and 
then  tlie  defaulters  appeared.  Noth- 
ing was  said,  but  Vizard  looked  rath- 
er glum ;  and  Aunt  Maitland  cast  a 
vicious  look  at  Severne  and  Zoe: 
they  had  made  a  forced  march,  and 
outflanked  her.  She  sat  down,  and 
bided  her  time,  like  a  fowler  waiting 
till  the  ducks  come  within  shot. 

But  the  conversation  was  common- 
place, inconsecutive,  shifty,  and  vague, 
and  it  was  two  hours  before  any  thing 
came  witliin  shot :  all  this  time  not  a 
soul  suspected  the  ambushed  fowler. 

At  last,  Vizard,  having  thrown  out 
one  of  his  hints  that  the  fair  sex  are 
imperfect,  Fanny,  being  under  the  in- 
thience  of  Miss  ]\laitland's  revelations. 


ventured  to  suggest  that  tliey  had  no 
more  faults  than  men,  and  certainly 
were  not  more  deceitful. 

"  Indeed  ?"  said  Vizard.  "  Not- 
more — deceitful!  Do  you  speak  from 
experience  ?" 

"Oh  no,  no,"  said  Fanny,  getting 
rather  frightened.  "I  only  think  so, 
somehow." 

"Well,  but  you  must  have  a  reason. 
IMaj'  I  respectfully  in(piire  whether 
more  men  have  jilted  you  than  you 
have  jilted  ?" 

"You  may  inquire  as  respectfully 
as  you  like;  but  I  sha'n't  tell  you." 

"That  is  right.  Miss  Dover,"  said 
Severne;  "don't  you  i)iit  up  with  bis 
nonsense.  He  knows  notliing  about 
it :  women  are  angels,  compared  with 
men.  The  wonder  is,  how  they  can 
waste  so  much  truth  and  constancy 
and  beauty  upon  the  foul  sex.  To 
my  mind,  there  is  only  one  thing  we 
beat  you  in  ;  we  do  stick  by  each 
other  lather  better  than  you  do.  You 
are  truer  to  us.  We  are  a  little  truer 
to  each  other." 

"Not  a  little,"  suggested  Vizard, 
dryly. 

"For  my  part,"  said  Zoe,  blushing 
pink  at  her  boldness  in  advancing  an 
opinion  on  so  large  a  matter,  "I 
think  these  comparisons  are  rather 
narrow-minded.  What  have  ive  to 
do  with  bad  peo])lc,  male  or  female? 
A  good  man  is  good,  and  a  good 
woman  is  good.  Still,  I  do  think  that 
women  have  greater  iiearts  to  love, 
and  men,  perhaps,  greater  hearts  for 
friendship:"  tlien,  blushing  roseate, 
"even  in  the  short  lime  we  have  been 
here  we  have  seen  two  gentlemen  give 
up  ])leasure  for  self-denying  friend- 
ship. Lord  Uxmoor  gave  us  all  up 
for  a  sick  friend.  Mr.  Severne  did 
more,  perhaps ;  for  he  lost  that  divine 
singer.  You  will  never  hear  her  now, 
Mr.  Severne." 

Tiie  Maitland  gun  went  off:  "A 
sick  friend  !  Mr.  Severne?  Ha,  ha, 
ha !  You  silly  girl,  he  has  got  no  sick 
friend.  He  was  at  the  gaming-table. 
That  was  his  sick  friend." 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


49 


It  was  an  effective  discliarge.  It 
winged  a  cluck  or  two.  It  killed,  as 
fi)llo\vs  :  the  tranquillity  —  the  good 
liumor — and  the  content  of  the  little 
party. 

Sevenie  started,  and  stared,  and  lost 
color,  and  then  cast  at  Vizard  a  A-en- 
omous  look  never  seen  on  his  face  be- 
fore; for  he  naturally  concluded  that 
Vizard  had  betrayed  him. 

Zoe  was  amazed,  looked  instantly 
at  Severne,  saw  it  was  true,  and  turn- 
ed pale  at  his  evident  discomfiture. 
Her  lover  had  been  guilty  of  deceit — 
mean  and  rather  heartless  deceit. 

Even  Fanny  winced  at  the  point- 
blank  denunciation  of  a  young  man, 
who  was  himself  polite  to  every  body. 
She  would  have  done  it  in  a  very  dif- 
ferent way — insinuations,  innuendo, 
etc. 

"They  have  found  you  out,  old  fel- 
low," said  Vizard,  merrily  ;  "  but  you 
need  not  look  as  if  you  had  robbed  a 
church.  Hang  it  all  I  a  fellow  has 
got  a  right  to  gamble,  if  he  chooses. 
Anyway,  he  paid  for  his  whistle ;  for 
he  lost  three  hundred  pounds." 

"Tliree  hundred  pounds!"  cried 
the  terrible  old  maid.  "  Where  ever 
did  he  get  them  to  lose?" 

iSeverne  divined  that  he  had  noth- 
ing to  gain  by  fiction  here ;  so  he 
said,  sullenly,  "I  got  them  from  Viz- 
ard ;  but  I  gave  him  value  for  them." 
"  You  need  not  publish  our  pri- 
vate transactions,  Ned,"  said  Vizard. 
"  Miss  Maitland,  tliis  is  really  not  in 
your  department." 

"  Oh  yes,  it  is,"  said  she  ;  "and  so 
you'll  find." 

This  pertinacity  looked  like  defi- 
ance. Vizard  rose  from  his  chair, 
bowed  ironically,  with  the  air  of  a 
man  not  disposed  for  a  hot  argument. 
"  In  that  case — with  permission — 
I'll  withdraw  to  my  veranda  and,  in 
that  [he  struck  a  light]  peaceful — 
[here  he  took  a  suck]  shade — " 

"  You  will  meditate  on  the  charms 
of  Ina  Klosking." 

Vizard  received  this  poisoned  ar- 
row in  the  small  of  the  back,  as  lie 
3 


was  sauntering  out.  He  turned  like 
a  shot,  as  if  a  man  had  struck  him, 
and,  for  a  single  moment,  he  looked 
downright  terrible,  and  wonderfully 
unlike  the  easy-going  Harrington  Viz- 
ard. But  he  soon  recovered  himself. 
"What!  you  listen,  do  you?"  said 
he ;  and  turned  contemptuously  on 
his  heel  without  another  Avord. 

There  was  an  uneasy,  chilling 
pause.  Miss  Maitland  would  have 
given  something  to  withdraw  her  last 
shot.  Fanny  was  very  uncomforta- 
ble, and  fixed  her  eyes  on  the  table. 
Zoe,  deeply  shocked  at  Severne's  de- 
ceit, was  now  amazed  and  puzzled 
about  her  brother.  "  Ina  Klosking !" 
inquired  she;  "who  is  that?" 

"Ask  Mr.  Severne,"  said  Miss  Mait- 
land, sturdily. 

Now,  Mr.  Severne  was  sitting  silent, 
but  with  restless  eyes,  meditating  how 
he  shoidd  get  over  that  figment  of  his 
about  the  sick  friend. 

Zoe  turned  round  on  him,  fixed  her 
glorious  eyes  full  npon  his  face,  and 
said,  rather  imperiously,  "Mr.  Sev- 
erne, who  is  Ina  Klosking  ?" 

Mr.  Severne  looked  up  blankly  in 
her  face,  and  said  nothing. 

She  colored  at  not  being  answered, 
and  repeated  her  question  (all  this 
time  Fanny's  eyes  were  fixed  on  the 
young  man  even  more  keenly  than 
Zoe's),  "Who  —  and  what  —  is  Ina 
Klosking?" 

"She  is  a  public  singer." 

"  Do  you  know  her?" 

"Y'^es;  I  heard  her  sing  at  Vien- 
na." 

' '  Yes,  yes  ;  but  do  you  know  her 
to  speak  to  ?" 

lie  considered  half  a  moment,  and 
then  said  he  had  not  that  honor. 
"But,"  said  he,  rather  hurriedly, 
"somebody  or  other  told  me  she  had 
come  out  at  the  opera  here,  and  made 
a  hit." 

"  What  in— Siebcl  ?" 

"I  don't  know.  But  I  saw  large 
bills  out  with  her  name.  Slie  made 
her  dt'fjut  in  Gounod's  'Faust.'" 

"It  is  nil/  Siebel!" cried  Zoe,  rapt- 


60 


A  WUMAX-IIATEH. 


iirously.  "Wliy,  aunt,  no  wonder 
Ilanington  adniiies  lier.  For  my 
part,  I  adore  her." 

"  You,  child  I  That  is  quite  a  dif- 
ferent matter." 

'•No,  it  is  not.  He  is  like  me  ;  he 
has  only  seen  her  once,  as  1  have,  and 
on  the  stage." 

"Fiddle-dee-dee.  I  tell  you  he  is 
in  love  with  her,  over  head  and  ears. 
He  is  wonderfully  inflammable  for  a 
woman-hater.  Ask.  Mr.  Severne :  he 
knows." 

"Mr.  Severne,  is  my  brother  in 
love  with  tiiat  huly  ?" 

Severne's  turn  had  come  ;  that  able 
young  man  saw  his  chance,  and  did  as 
good  a  bit  of  acting  as  ever  was  ex- 
temporized even  by  an  Italian  mime. 

"Miss  Vizard,"  said  he,  fixing  his 
hazel  eyes  on  her  for  the  first  time,  in 
a  way  that  made  her  feel  his  power, 
"  what  passed  in  confidence  between 
two  friends  ought  to  be  sacred.  Don't 
— you — tiiink  so?'  (The  girl  quiver- 
ed, remembering  the  secret  he  liad 
confessed  to  her.)  "Miss  Maitland 
has  done  your  brother  and  me  the 
honor  to  listen  to  our  seci'ets.  JShe 
shall  repeat  them,  if  she  thinks  it  deli- 
cate ;  but  I  shall  not,  without  Vizard's 
consent ;  and,  more  than  that,  the  con- 
versation seems  to  me  to  be  taking 
the  turn  of  casting  blame  and  ridicule 
and  I  don't  know  what  on  the  best- 
hearted,  kindest-hearted,  truest-heiirt- 
ed,  noblest,  and  manliest  man  I  know. 
I  decline  to  take  any  further  share  in 
it." 

With  these  last  words  in  his  mouth, 
he  stuck  his  hands  defiantly  into  his 
pockets,  and  stalked  out  into  the  ve- 
randa, looking  every  inch  a  man. 

Zoe  folded  her  arms,  and  gazed  aft- 
er liim  with  undisguised  admiration. 
How  well  every  thing  he  did  became 
him;  his  firing  up — his  brusquerie — 
the  very  movements  of  his  body,  all  so 
jiiquant,  charming,  and  nnwomanly ! 
As  he  vanished  from  her  admiring 
eyes,  she  turned,  with  flaming  cheeks, 
on  Miss  Maitland,  and  .said,  "Well, 
aunt,  you  have  driven  them  both  out 


at  the  window;  now,  say  something 
pretty  to  Fanny  and  me,  and  drive  us 
out  at  the  door." 

Miss  Maitland  hung  her  head  ;  she 
saw  she  had  them  all  against  her  but 
Fanny,  and  Fanny  was  a  trimmer. 
She  said,  sorrowfully,  "No,  Zoe.  I 
feel  how  tmattractive  I  have  made  the 
room.  I  have  dri\-en  away  the  gods 
of  your  idolatry — they  are  only  idols 
of  day  ;  but  that  you  can't  believe.  I 
will  banish  nobody  else,  except  a  cross- 
grained,  but  resi)ectable  old  woman, 
who  is  too  ex])erienced,  and  too  much 
soured  by  it,  to  please  young  people 
when  things  are  going  wrong." 

With  this  she  took  lier  bed-candle, 
and  retired. 

Zoe  had  an  inward  struggle.  As 
Miss  Maitland  ojjened  her  bedroom 
door,  she  called  to  her:  "Annt!  one 
word.  Was  it  you  that  ordered  the 
fire  in  my  bedroom  ?" 

Now,  if  she  had  received  the  answer 
she  expected,  she  meant  to  say,  "  Then 
please  let  me  forget  every  thing  else 
you  have  said  or  done  to-day."  But 
Miss  Maitland  stared  a  little,  and 
said,  "Fire  in  your  bedroom?  no." 

"Oh!  Then  I  have  nothing  to 
thank  you  for  this  day,"  said  Zoe, 
with  all  the  hardness  of  youth  ;  though, 
as  a  general  rule,  she  had  not  her 
share  of  it. 

The  olil  lady  winced  visibly,  bnt  she 
made  a  creditable  answer.  "Then, 
my  dear,  you  shall  have  my  prayers 
this  night ;  and  it  does  not  matter 
much  whether  you  thank  me  for  them 
or  not." 

As  she  disappeared,  Zoe  flung  her- 
self wearily  on  a  couch,  and  very  soon 
began  to  ciy.  Fanny  ran  to  her,  and 
nestled  close  to  her,  and  the  two  had  a 
rock  together,  Zoe  crying,  and  Fanny 
coaxing  and  comforting. 

"Ah!"  sighed  Zoe,  "this  was  the 
ha[)piest  day  of  my  life ;  and  see  how 
it  enils.  Quarreling;  and  deceit  I  the 
one  I  hate,  the  other  I  despi.se.  No, 
never  again,  until  I  have  said  my 
I)rayers,  and  am  just  going  to  sleep, 
will  I  cry  'U  giorno  felicel'as  i  did 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


51 


this  afternoon,  when  the  rain  was 
poining  on  me,  but  my  heart  was  all 
in  a  glow." 

These  pretty  little  lamentations  of 
youth  were  interrupted  by  Mr.  Severne 
slipping  away  from  his  friend,  to  try 
and  recover  lost  ground. 

He  was  coolly  received  by  Zoe; 
then  he  looked  dismayed,  but  affected 
not  to  understand  ;  then  Zoe  pinched 
Fanny,  which  meant  "  I  don't  choose 
to  put  him  on  bis  defense ;  but  I  am 
dying  to  hear  if  he  has  any  thing  to 
say."  Tiiereupon  Fanny  obeyed  that 
significant  pincli,  and  said,  "Mr.  Sev- 
erne,  my  cousin  is  not  a  woman  of  the 
world  ;  she  is  a  country  girl,  with  old- 
fashioned  romantic  notions  that  a  man 
should  be  above  telling  fibs.  1  have 
known  her  longer  than  you,  and  I  see 
she  can't  understand  your  passing  off 
the  gambling-table  for  a  sick  friend." 
"Wiiy,  I  never  did,"  said  he,  as 
bold  as  brass. 
"Mr.  Severne  I" 

"Miss  Dover,  my  sick  friend  was 
at  'The  Golden  Star.'  That's  a  small 
hotel  in  a  different  direction  from  the 
Kiu'saal.  I  was  tiiere  from  seven 
o'clock  till  nine.  You  ask  the  waiter, 
if  you  don't -believe  me." 

Fanny  giggled  at  this  inadvertent 
speech ;  but  Zoe's  feelings  were  too 
deeply  engaged  to  shoot  fun  flying. 
"  Fanny,"  cried  she,  eagerly,  "  I  beard 
him  tell  the  coachman  to  drive  him  to 
that  very  place,  'The  Golden  Star.'" 
"  Really  ?  "  said  Fanny,  mystified, 
"indeed  I  did,  dear.  I  remember 
'The  Golden  Star  '  distinctly." 

"Ladies,  I  was  there  till  nine 
o'clock.  Then  I  started  for  the  thea- 
tre. Unfortunately  the  tlieatrc  is  at- 
tached to  the  Kursaal.  I  thought  I 
woidd  just  look  in  for  a  few  miiuites. 
In  fact,  1  don't  tiiink  I  was  there  half 
an  horn-.  But  Miss  Maitland  is  quite 
right  in  one  tiling.  I  lost  more  tban 
two  hundred  pounds,  all  through  inlay- 
ing on  a  false  system.  Of  course,  I 
ktiow  I  had  no  business  to  go  there  at 
all,  when  I  might  have  been  by  vour 
side." 


"And  heard  La  Klosking." 

"It  was  devilish  bad  taste,  and  you 
may  well  be  surprised  and  offended." 

"No,  no;  not  at  that,"  said  Zoe. 

"But  hang  it  all,  don't  make  a  fel- 
low worse  than  he  is!  Why  should  I 
invent  a  sick  friend  ?  I  suppose  I 
have  a  right  to  go  to  the  Kursaal  if  I 
choose.  At  any  rate,  I  mean  to  go  to- 
morrow afternoon,  and  win  a  pot  of 
money.     Hinder  me  who  can." 

Zoe  beamed  with  pleasure.  "  That 
spiteful  old  woman  !  I  am  ashamed 
of  myself.  Of  course  you  have.  It 
becomes  a  man  to  say  je  veux ;  and  it 
becomes  a  woman  to  yield.  Forgive 
our  unworthy  doubts.  We  will  all  go 
to  the  Kursaal  to-morrow." 

Tiie  reconciliation  was  complete ; 
and,  to  add  to  Zoe's  happiness,  she 
made  a  little  discovery.  Rosa  came 
in  to  see  if  she  wanted  any  thing. 
That,  you  must  know,  was  Rosa's  way 
of  saying,  "  It  is  very  late.  I'm  tired ; 
so  the  sooner  you  go  to  bed,  the  bet- 
ter." And  Zoe  was  by  nature  so  con- 
siderate that  she  often  went  to  bed 
more  for  Rosa's  convenience  than  her 
own  inclination. 

But  this  time  she  said,  sharply, 
"Yes,  I  do.  I  want  to  know  who 
had  my  fire  lighted  for  me  in  the  mid- 
dle of  summer." 

"Why,  squire,  to  be  sure,"  said 
Rosa. 

"What— wy  brother!" 

"Yes,  miss;  and  seen  to  it  all  bis- 
self:  leastways,  I  found  the  things 
projierly  muddled.  'Twas  to  be  seen 
a  man  had  been  at  'em." 

Rosa  retired,  leaving  Zoe's  face  a 
picture. 

Just  then  Vizard  put  his  head  cau- 
tiously in  at  the  window,  and  said,  in 
a  comic  whis])cr,  "  Is  she  gdne?" 

"Yes,  she  is  gone,  "cried  Zoe,  "and 
you  are  wanted  in  her  place."  She 
ran  to  meet  him.  "Who  ordered  a 
fire  in  my  room,  and  muddled  all  my 
things?"  said  she,  severelv. 

"I  did.     What  of  that'?" 

"Ob,  nothing.     Only  now  I  know 


53 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


wlio  is  my  friciul.  Yoiinp;  people, 
Iiere's  a  lesson  fur  you.  ^\'lle^  :i  lady 
is  out  in  the  I'ain,  clun't  j)ie])are  a  lect- 
in'c  for  her,  like  Aunt  Maitland,  hut 
li;;lit  her  fire,  like  this  dear  old  duck 
of  a  woman  -  hating  impostor.  Kiss 
me!"  (violentlv). 

"There— pest!" 

"That  is  not  enough,  nor  half. 
There,  and  there,  and  there,  and  there, 
and  there,  and  there." 

"  Now  look  here,  my  young  friend," 
said  Vizard,  holding  her  lovely  head 
liy  hotli  ears,  "you  aie  exciting  your- 
self ahout  nothing,  and  that  will  end 
in  one  of  your  headaches.  So  just 
take  your  candle,  and  go  to  bed,  like 
a  good  little  girl." 

"Must  I?  Well,  then,  I  will. 
Good-bye,  tyrant  dear.  Oli,  how  I 
love  you!     CJome,  Fanny." 

She  gave  her  iiand  shyly  to  Severne, 
and  soon  they  were  both  in  Zoe's  room. 

Ilosa  was  dismissed,  and  they  had 
their  chat ;  hut  it  was  nearly  all  on 
one  side.  Fanny  had  plenty  to  say, 
hut  did  not  say  it.  She  had  not  the 
heart  to  cloud  tiuU  beaming  face  again 
so  soon;  she  temjjorized  :  Zoe  pressed 
her  with  questions  too ;  but  she  slur- 
red things.  Zoe  asked  her  why  Miss 
Maitland  was  so  bitter  against  Mr. 
Severne.  Fanny  said,  in  an  off-hand 
way,  "  01),  it  is  only  on  your  account 
she  objects  to  him." 

"  And  what  arc  her  objections?" 

"  Oh,  only  grammatical  ones,  dear. 
She  says  his  antecedents  are  obscure, 
and  his  relatives  unknown,  ha!  ha! 
ha !"  Fanny  laughed,  but  Zoe  did  not 
see  tlic  fiui.  Then  Fanny  stroked  her 
down. 

"Never  mind  that  old  woman.  / 
shall  interfere  properly,  if  1  see  you  in 
danger.  It  was  monstrous,  her  mak- 
ing an  rsclandre  at  the  very  dinner-ta- 
ble, and  spoiling  your  liajipy  daj-." 

"But  she  hasn't ! "  cried  Zoe,  eager- 
ly. "  '  All's  well  that  ends  well.'  I 
am  happy — oh,  so  happy!  You  love 
me.  Ilarrington  loves  me.  //e  loves 
me.  What  more  can  any  woman  ask 
for  than  to  be  amata  bene  ?" 


This  was  the  last  word  between  Zoe 
and  Fanny  upon  St.  J5iooch's  day. 

As  Fanny  went  to  her  own  room, 
the  vigilant  JNIaiiland  opened  her  door 
that  looked  upon  the  corridor,  and 
beckoned  her  in.  "Well,"  said  she, 
"did  you  speak  to  Zoe?" 

"  Just  a  word  before  dinner.  Aunt, 
she  came  in  wet  to  the  skin,  and  in 
higlier  spirits  than  Kosa  ever  knew 
her." 

Aunt  groaned. 

"And  what  do  you  think?  Iler 
spoiled  dress,  she  ordered  it  to  he  iron- 
ed and  put  by.     It  is  a  case." 

Next  day  they  all  met  at  a  lato 
breakfast,  and  good  humor  was  tlie  or- 
der of  the  day. 

Tliis  encouraged  Zoe  to  throw  out 
a  feeler  about  the  gambling-tables. 
Then  Fanny  said  it  must  be  nice  to 
gamble,  because  it  was  so  naughty, 
"In  a  long  experience,"  said  Miss 
Dover,  with  a  sigh,  "I  have  found 
that  whatever  is  nice  is  naughty,  and 
whatever  is  naughty  is  nice." 

"There's  a  siiort  code  of  morals," 
observed  Vizard,  "  for  the  use  of  sem- 
inaries. Now  let  us  hear  Severne ; 
he  knows  all  the  defenses  of  gambling 
lunacy  has  discovered." 

Severne,  thus  appealed  to,  said  play 
was  like  other  things,  bad  only  when 
carried  to  excess.  "At  Ilomhurg, 
where  tlie  play  is  fair,  what  harm  can 
there  be  in  devoting  two  or  three  hours 
of  a  long  da}'  to  trente  et  quarante  ? 
The  play  exercises  memory,  j<idgment, 
sanf/froid,  and  other  good  qualities  of 
the  mind.  Above  all,  it  is  on  the 
scpuire.  Now,  buying  and  selling 
sliares  without  delivery,  bulling,  and 
bearing,  and  rigging,  and  Stock  -  ex- 
change speculations  in  general,  are 
just  as  much  gambling;  but  with 
cards  all  marked,  and  dice  loaded,  and 
the  fair  player  has  no  cliance.  The 
world, "said  this  youthful  philosoiiher, 
"  is  taken  in  by  words.  The  truth  is, 
that  gambling  with  cards  is  fair,  and 
gambhng  without  cards  a  swindle." 

"He  is  hard  upon  the  City,"  said 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


53 


the  Vizard;  "but  no  matter.  Pro- 
ceed, young  man.  Develop  your  code 
of  morals  for  the  amusement  of  man- 
kind, while  duller  spirits  inflict  instruc- 
tion." 

"You  have  got  my  opinion,"  said 
Severne.     "  ObHge  us  with  yours." 

"No;  mine  would  not  be  popular 
just  now  :  I  reserve  it  till  we  are  there, 
and  can  see  the  lunatics  at  work." 

"  Oh,  then  we  are  to  go,"  cried  Fan- 
ny.    "Oh,  be  joyful!" 

'  "That  depends  on  Miss  Maitland. 
It  is  not  in  my  department." 

Instantly  four  bright  eyes  were  turn- 
ed piteously  on  the  awful  Maitland. 

"Oh,  aunt,"  said  Zoe,  pleadingly, 
"(/u  you  think  there  would  be  any 
great  harm  in  our — ^just  for  once  in  a 
way?" 

"  My  dear,"  said  Miss  Maitland, 
solemnly,  "I  can  not  say  that  I  ap- 
prove of  public  gambling  in  general. 
But  at  Ilomburg  the  company  is  se- 
lect. I  have  seen  a  German  prince, 
a  Russian  prince,  and  two  Englisii 
countesses,  the  very  elite  of  London 
society,  seated  at  the  same  table  in  tiie 
Kursaal.  I  think,  therefore,  tliere  can 
be  no  harm  in  your  going,  under  the 
conduct  of  older  persons — myself,  for 
exam])le,  and  your  brother." 

"Code  three,"  suggested  Vizard — 
"the  chaperonian  code." 

"And  a  very  good  one,  too,"  said 
Zoe.  "But,  aunt,  must  we  look  on, 
or  may  we  phiy  just  a  little,  little  ?" 

"My  dear,  there  can  be  no  great 
harm  in  playing  a  little,  in  good  com- 
pany— if  you  play  with  your  own  mon- 
ey." She  must  have  one  dig  at  Sev- 
erne. 

"I  sha'n't  play  very  deep,  then," 
said  Fanny ;  "  for  I  have  got  no  mon- 
ey hardly." 

Vizard  came  to  the  front,  like  a 
man.  "No  more  should  I,"  said  he, 
"but  for  Ilerrics  &  Co.  As  it  is,  I 
am  a  Croesus,  and  I  shall  stand  one 
hundred  poimds,  wliich  you  three  la- 
dies must  divide ;  and  between  you, 
no  doubt,  you  will  break  the  bank." 

Acclamations  greeted  this  piece  of 


misogyny.  When  they  had  subsided, 
Severne  was  called  on  to  explain  the 
game,  and  show  the  young  ladies  how 
to  win  a  fortune  with  thirty-three 
pounds  six  shillings  and  eight  pence. 

The  table  was  partly  cleared,  two 
packs  of  cards  sent  for,  and  the  pro- 
fessor lectured.  ' ' This, "  said  he,  "is 
the  cream  of  the  game.  Six  packs 
are  properly  shuffled,  and  properly  cut ; 
the  players  put  their  money  on  black 
or  red,  which  is  the  main  event,  and 
is  settled  thus :  The  dealer  deals  the 
cards  in  two  vows.  He  deals  iho.  first 
row  for  black,  and  stops  the  moment 
the  cards  pass  thirty.  That  deal  de- 
termines how  near  noir  can  get  to 
thirty-one." 

Severne  then  dealt  for  noir,  and  the 
cards  came  as  follows  : 

Queen  of  hearts  —  four  of  clubs  — 
ten  of  spades  —  nine  of  diamonds: 
total,  thirty-three. 

He  then  dealt  for  red ; 

Knave  of  clubs — ace  of  diamonds — 
two  of  spades — king  of  spades — nine 
of  hearts :  total,  thirty-two. 

"Red  wins,  because  the  cards  dealt 
for  red  come  nearest  thirty-one.  Be- 
sides that,"  said  he,  "you  can  bet  on 
the  color,  or  against  it.  'J'he  actual 
color  of  the  first  card  the  player  turns 
up  on  the  black  line  must  be  black  or 
red.  Whichever  happens  to  be  it  is 
called  '  the  color.'  Say  it  is  red  ;  then, 
if  the  black  line  of  cards  wins,  color 
loses.  Now,  I  will  deal  again  for  both 
events. " 

' '  I  deal  for  noir. " 

"  Nine  of  diamonds.  Red,  then,  is 
the  actual  color  turned  up  on  the  black 
line.  Do  you  bet  for  it,  or  against 
it?" 

"  I  bet  for  it, "  cried  Zoe,  "  It's  my 
favorite  color." 

"And  what  do  you  say  on  the  main 
event?" 

"  Oh,  red  on  that  too." 

"Very  good.  I  go  on  dealing  for 
noir.  Queen  of  diamonds,  three  of 
spades,  knave  of  hearts  —  nine  of 
spades  :  thirty-two.  That  looks  ugly 
for  your  two  events,  black  coming  so 


64 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


near  as  tliiity-two.  Now  for  red. 
Four  of  hearts,  knave  of  sjjades,  sev- 
en of  dianioiuls,  quceu  of  clubs— tliir- 
t3'-one,  by  Jove !  Rouge  <i<if/ne,  et  cou- 
leur.  Tliere  is  notliing  like  courage. 
You  have  won  both  events." 

"Oh,  what  a  nice  game!"  cried 
Zoe. 

lie  then  continned  todeal,  and  they 
all  bet  on  the  main  event  and  the  col- 
or, staking  fabulous  suras,  till  at  last 
both  numbers  came  up  thirty-one. 

'J'hereupon  Sevenie  informcil  them 
that  half  the  stakes  belonged  to  him. 
That  was  the  trifling  advantage  ac- 
corded to  tiie  i)ank. 

"Which  trilling  advantage,"  said 
Vizard,  "  has  enriclied  tlie  man-eat- 
ing company,  and  ttieir  ]>rince,  and 
built  the  Kursaal,  and  will  clean  you 
all  out,  if  you  ])lay  long  enough." 

' '  Tliat, "  said  Severne, ' '  I  deny.  It 
is  more  than  balanced  by  tiie  right  the 
players  have  of  doubling,  till  they  gain, 
and  by  tiie  maturity  of  the  chances  : 
I  will  exjilain  this  to  tlie  ladies.  You 
see  experience  proves  that  neither  red 
nor  black  can  come  up  more  than  nine 
times  running.  When,  therefore,  ei- 
ther color  has  come  np  four  times, 
you  can  put  a  moderate  stake  on  tiie 
other  color,  and  doultle  on  it  till  it 
must  come,  by  the  laws  of  nature. 
Say  red  has  turned  four  times.  You 
put  a  napoleon  on  black  ;  red  gains. 
You  lose  a  na])()leon.  You  don't  re- 
move it,  but  double  on  it.  'i'iie  chances 
are  now  five  to  one  you  gain  :  but  if 
you  lose,  you  double  on  the  same,  and, 
wlien  you  have  got  to  sixteen  napole- 
ons, the  color  must  cliango  ;  uniform- 
ity has  readied  its  jiliysical  limit. 
That  is  called  the  maturity  of  the 
chances.  JJegin  as  unluckily  as  jios- 
sible  with  five  francs,  and  lose.  If 
yon  have  to  double  eight  times  before 
you  win,  it  only  comes  to  twelve  hun- 
dred and  eighty  francs.  Given,  there- 
fore, a  man  to  whom  fifty  na])oleous 
are  no  more  than  five  francs  to  us,  he 
can  never  lose  if  he  doubles,  like  a 
'I'rojan,  till  the  chances  are  mature. 
This  is  called  'the  Martingale:'  but, 


observe,  it  only  secures  against  loss. 
Heavy  gains  are  made  by  doubling 
judiciously  on  the  in'nning  color,  or 
by  sinijily  betting  on  short  runs  of  it. 
When  red  comes  uj),  back  red,  and 
double  twice  on  it.  'J'iiiis  you  profit 
by  the  remarkable  and  observed  fact 
tiiat  colors  do  not,  as  a  rule,  alternate, 
but  reach  ultimate  equality  by  avoid- 
ing alternation,  and  making  short  runs, 
with  occasional  long  runs  ;  the  latter 
are  rare,  and  must  be  watched  with  a 
view  to  the  balancing  run  of  the  other 
color.     This  is  my  system." 

"And  you  really  think  you  have  in- 
vented it?"  asked  Vizard. 

"  I  am  not  so  conceited.  I\Iy  sys- 
tem was  communicated  to  me,  in  the 
Kursaal  itself — by  an  old  gentleman." 

^^  An  old  gentleman,  or  the — ?" 

"  Oh,  Harrington,"  cried  Zoe,  "fie!" 

"  Mv  wit  is  appreciated  at  its  value. 
Proceed,  Ned." 

Severne  told  him,  a  little  defiantly, 
it  was  an  old  gentleman,  with  a  noble 
head,  a  silvery  beard,  and  the  most 
benevolent  countenance  he  ever  saw. 

"Curious  place  for  his  reverence 
to  be  in,"  hazarded  Vizard. 

"  He  saw  me  betting,  first  on  the 
black,  then  on  tiie  red,  till  I  was  clean- 
ed out,  and  tiien  he  beckoned  me." 

"  Not  a  man  of  premature  advice 
anyway." 

"He  told  me  he  had  observed  my 
play.  I  had  been  relying  on  the  al- 
ternations of  the  colors,  whii'h  alter- 
nation ciiance  ))ersistently  avoids,  and 
arrives  at  equality  by  runs.  He  tlieii 
gave  me  a  better  system." 

"And,  having  expounded  his  sys- 
tem, he  illustrated  it?  Tell  the  truth 
now  ;  he  sat  down  and  lost  tlie  coat 
ort"  his  back  ?  It  followed  his  family 
acres." 

"You  are  quite  wrong  again.  He 
never  plays.  He  has  heart-disease, 
and  his  jihysician  has  forbidden  him 
all  excitement." 

"His  nation?" 

"Humph!     French." 

"Ah !  the  nation  that  produced 
'  Le  philosophe  sans  ie  savoir.'      And 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


56 


now  it  has  added,  '  Le  philosophe  sans 
le  vouloir,'  And  you  have  stiiiiil>led  on 
Iiim.  Wliat  a  life  for  an  aged  man  ! 
Fortunatus  ille  senex  qui  ludicola  vi- 
vit.  Tantalus  handcutied  and  glow- 
ering over  a  gambling-table  ;  a  hell  in 
a  hell." 

"Oh,  Harrington  I—" 

"Exclamations  not  allowed  in  so- 
ber argument,  Zoe." 

"  Come,  Ned,  it  is  not  heart-disease, 
it  is  purse  disease.  Just  do  me  a  fa- 
vor. Here  are  five  sovereigns  ;  give 
those  to  the  old  beggar,  and  let  him 
risk  them." 

"I  could  hardly  take  such  a  lib- 
erty with  an  old  gentleman  of  his  age 
and  appearance — a  man  of  honor  too, 
and  high  sentiments.  Wiiy,  I'd  bet 
seven  to  four  he  is  one  of  Napoleon's 
old  soldiers." 

The  ladies  sided  unanimously  with 
Severne.  "What!  oiler  a  vieux  de 
V Empire  five  pounds?     Oh,  fie  !" 

"  Fiddle-dee-dee  I"  said  the  indom- 
itable Vizard.  "Besides,  lie  will  do 
it  with  his  usual  grace.  He  will  ap- 
proach tlie  son  of  Mars  witli  that 
feigned  humility  wliich  sits  so  well  on 
youth,  and  ask  him,  as  a  personal  fa- 
vor, to  invest  five  pounds  for  him  at 
rouf/e-et-noir.  The  old  soldier  will 
stitfeii  into  double  dignity  at  first,  tiien 
give  him  a  low  wink,  and  end  by  sit- 
ting down  and  gambling.  He  will  be 
cautious  at  starting,  as  one  who  opens 
trenches  for  the  siege  of  ]\Iammon  ; 
but  soon  the  veteran  will  get  heated, 
auil  give  battle;  he  will  fancy  himself 
at  Jena,  since  the  croujjiers  are  Prus- 
sians. If  he  loses,  you  cut  him  dead, 
being  a  humdrum  Englisliman  ;  aiul 
if  he  wins,  he  cuts  you,  and  j)ock- 
ets  the  cash,  being  a  Frenchman  that 
talks  sentimeiu.  " 

This  sally  j)rovoked  a  laugh,  in 
which  Severne  joined,  and  said,  "Re- 
ally, for  a  landed  pro])rictor,  you  know 
a  thing  or  two."  He  consented  at 
last,  with  some  reluctance,  to  take  the 
money  ;  anil  none  of  the  jiersons  i)res- 
ent  doubted  that  he  would  e.xeciUe  the 
commission  with  a  grace  and  delica- 


cy all  his  own.  Nevertheless,  to  run 
forward  a  little  with  the  narrative,  I 
must  tell  you  that  he  never  did  hand 
that  five  pound  to  the  venerable  sire  ; 
a  little  thing  prevented  him — the  old 
man  wasn't  born  yet. 

"  And  now,"  said  Vizard,  "  it  is  our 
last  day  in  Homburg.  You  are  all  go- 
ing to  gratify  your  mania — lunacy  is 
contagious.     Suppose  I  gratify  mine." 

"Do,  dear,"  said  Zoe  ;  "  and  what 
is  it?" 

"  I  like  your  asking  that ;  when  it 
was  publicly  announced  last  night,  and 
I  fled  discomfited  to  my  balcony,  and, 
in  my  confusion,  lighted  a  cigar.  My 
mania  is — the  Klosking." 

"That  is  not  a  mania  ;  it  is  good 
taste.     She  is  admirable." 

"Yes,  in  an  opera;  but  I  want  to 
know  how  slie  looks  and  talks  in  a 
room  ;  and  that  is  insane  of  me." 

"  Then  so  you  shall,  insane  or  not. 
I  will  call  on  her  this  morning,  and 
take  you  in  my  hand." 

"What  an  ample  palm!  and  what 
juvenile  audacity !  Zoe,  you  take  my 
breath  away." 

"No  audacity  at  all.  I  am  sure  of 
my  welcome.  How  often  must  I  tell 
you  that  we  have  mesmerized  each 
other,  that  lady  and  I,  and  only  wait- 
ing an  opportiniity  to  rush  into  each 
other's  aims.  It  began  with  her  sin- 
gling me  out  at  the  opera.  But  I  dare 
say  that  was  owing,  at  first,  only  to 
my  being  in  full  dress." 

"No,  no;  to  your  being,  like  Ag- 
amemnon, a  head  taller  than  all  the 
other  Greeks." 

"Hanington  !  I  am  not  a  Greek.  I 
am  a  thorough  English  girl  at  lieart, 
though  I  (un  as  black  as  a  coal." 

"  No  apology  needed  in  our  ))resent 
frame.  You  are  all  the  more  like  the 
ace  of  spades." 

"  Do  you  want  me  to  take  you  to 
the  Klosking,  sir?  Then  you  had 
better  not  make  fun  of  me.  I  tell  you 
she  sung  to  ine,  and  smiled  on  me,  and 
courtesied  to  me  ;  and,  now  you  have 
put  it  into  my  head,  I  mean  to  call 
upon  her,  and  1  will  take  you  with  me. 


66 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


What  I  shall  do,  I  shall  send  in  my 
card,  I  sliall  be  adinitted,  and  you 
will  wait  outside.  As  soon  as  she  sees 
me,  she  will  run  to  me  with  both  hands 
out,  and  say,  in  excellent  French,  I 
liope,  ^  How,  mademoiselle!  you  have 
deigned  to  remember  me,  and  to  hon- 
or me  with  a  visit.'  Then  I  shall  say, 
in  school-French, '  Yes,  madame  ;  ex- 
cuse the  intrusion,  but  I  was  so  charm- 
ed with  your  peitormance.  We  leave 
llomburg  to-morrow,  and  as,  unfortu- 
nately for  myself,  I  can  not  have  the 
])leasure  of  seeing  you  again  upon  the 
stage — '  then  I  siiall  stop,  for  her  to 
iuterru[)t  me.  Then  she  will  interrui)t 
me,  and  say  charming  things,  as  only 
foreigners  cm  ;  and  then  1  shall  say, 
still  in  school-FrencIi,  '  Madame,  I  am 
not  alone.  I  iiave  my  brother  with 
me.  He  adores  music,  and  was  as  | 
fascinated  with  your  Siehel  as  myself.  I 
IMay  I  present  him  ?  Then  she  will 
say,  '  Oh  yes,  by  all  means  : '  and  1 
shall  introduce  you.  Then  you  can 
make  love  to  her.  That  will  be  droll. 
Fannv,  I'll  tell  you  every  word  he 
says." 

"Make  love  to  her!"  cried  Vizard. 
"Is  this  your  estimate  of  a  brother's 
motives?  My  object  in  visiting  this 
lady  is,  not  to  feed  my  mania,  but  to 
cure  it.  I  have  seen  her  on  the  stage, 
looking  like  the  incarnation  of  a  j)oet's 
dre.am.  I  am  extasie  with  her.  Now 
let  me  catch  her  en  desliabille,  witii 
her  porter  on  one  side,  and  her  lover 
on  the  other :  and  so  to  Devonshire,  re- 
lieved of  a  fatal  illusion." 

"  If  that  is  your  view,  I'll  go  by  my- 
self; for  1  know  she  is  a  noble  woman, 
and  as  much  a  lady  off  the  stage  as  on 
it.  My  only  fear  is  she  will  talk  that 
dreadful  guttural  German,  with  its 
'oches' and  its  'aches,' and  then  where 
shall  we  all  be?  We  must  ask  Mr. 
Severne  to  go  with  us." 

"A  good  idea.  No — a  vile  one. 
He  is  abominably  handsome,  and  lias 
the  gift  of  the  gab — in  German,  and 
other  languages.  He  is  sure  to  cut 
me  out,  the  villain!  Lock  him  up 
somebody,  till  we  come  back." 


"Now,  Hanington,  don't  be  absurd. 
He  must,  and  shall,  lie  of  the  party. 
I  have  my  reasons.  J\lr.  Severne,"  said 
she,  turning  on  him  with  a  blush  and 
a  divine  smile,  "you  will  oblige  me,  I 
am  sure." 

iSeverne's  face  tinned  as  blank  as  a 
doll's,  and  he  said  nothing,  one  way 
or  other. 

It  was  settled  that  they  sliould  all 
meet  at  the  Kursaal  at  four,  to  dine 
and  l)lay.  Hut  Zoe  and  her  jiarly 
woukl  go  on  ahead  by  the  one-o'clock 
train  ;  and  so  she  retired  to  jiut  on 
her  bonnet — a  technical  expression, 
which  implies  a  good  deal. 

Fanny  went  with  her,  and,  as  events 
more  exciting  than  the  usual  routine 
of  their  young  lives  were  ahead,  their 
tongues  went  a  rare  pace.  But  llie 
only  thing  worth  pr&senting  to  tiie 
reader  came  at  the  end,  after  the  said 
business  of  the  toilet  had  been  dispatch- 
ed. 

Zoe  said,  "  I  must  go  now,  or  I  shall 
keep  them  waiting." 

"  Only  one,  desir,"  said  Fanny,  dry- 
Iv. 
'  "Why  only  one?'' 

"  Mr.  Severne  will  not  go." 

"  That  he  will:  1  made  a  point  ofit." 

"You  did,  dear?  but  still  he  will 
not  go." 

There  was  something  in  this,  and  in 
Fanny's  tone,  that  startled  Zoe,  and 
puzzled  her  sorely.  She  turned  round 
upon  her  with  flashing  eye,  and  said, 
"  No  mysteries,  ])lease,  dear.  Why 
won't  he  go  with  me  wherever  I  ask 
him  to  go?  or,  rather,  what  makes 
you  think  he  won't?" 

Said  Fanny,  tliotiglitfiilly  :  "  I  could 
not  tell  you,  all  in  a  moment,  why  I 
feel  so  positive.  ( )ne  puts  little  things 
together  that  are  nothing  apart :  one 
observes  faces ;  I  do,  at  least.  You 
don't  seem,  to  me,  to  be  so  quick  at 
that  as  most  girls.  But,  Zoe  dear, 
you  know  very  well  one  often  knows 
a  thing  for  certain,  yet  one  doesn't 
know  exactly  what  makes  one  know 
I  it." 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


57 


Now  Zoe's  amour  propre  was  wound- 
ed by  Fanny's  suggestion  that  Severne 
would  not  go  to  Homburg,  or,  indeed, 
to  tlie  world's  end  with  her ;  so  she 
drew  herself  up  in  her  grand  way, 
and  folded  her  arms,  and  said,  a  little 
haughtily,  "Then  tell  me  what  is  it 
you  know  about  him  and  me,  without 
knowing  how  on  earth  you  know  it." 

The  supercilious  tone  and  grand 
manner  nettled  Fanny,  and  it  wasn't 
"brooch  day:"  she  stood  up  to  her 
lofty  cousin  like  a  little  game-cock. 
"  1  know  this,"  said  she,  with  height- 
ened cheek,  and  flashing  eyes,  and  a 
voice  of  steel,  "you  will  never  get 
Mr.  Edward  Severne  into  one  room 
with  Zoe  Vizard  and  Ina  Klosking." 

Zoe  Vizard  turned  very  pale,  but 
her  eyes  flashed  defiance  on  her  friend. 

"That  I'll  knowl"  said  she,  in  a 
deep  voice,  with  a  little  gasp,  but  a 
world  of  pride  and  resolution. 


CHAPTER  Vn. 

TuE  ladies  went  down  together, 
and  found  Vizard  ready.  Mr.  Severne 
was  not  in  the  room.  Zoe  inquired 
after  him. 

"  Gone  to  get  a  sun-shade,"  said 
Vizard. 

' '  There ! "  said  Zoe  to  Fanny,  in  a 
triuni])hant  whisper.  "  What  is  that 
for  but  to  go  with  us ?' 

Fanny  made  no  reply. 

They  waited  some  time  for  Severne 
and  his  sun-shade. 

At  last  Vizard  looked  at  his  watch, 
and  said  they  had  only  five  minutes  to 
spare.  "  Come  down,  and  look  after 
him.     He  must  be  somewhere  about." 

They  went  down,  and  looked  for 
him  all  over  the  Platz.  He  was  not 
to  be  seen.  At  last  Vizard  took  out 
his  watch,  and  said,  "  It  is  some  mis- 
understanding :  we  can't  wait  any 
longei". " 

So  he  and  Zoe  went  to  the  train. 
Neither  said  much   on  the   way   to 


Homburg ;  for  they  were  both  brood- 
ing. Vizard's  good  sense  and  right 
feeling  were  beginning  to  sting  him  a 
little  for  calling  on  the  Klosking  at 
all,  and  a  great  deal  for  using  the  en- 
thusiasm of  an  inexperienced  girl  to 
obtain  an  introduction  to  a  public  sing- 
er. He  sat  moody  in  his  corner,  tak- 
ing himself  to  task.  Zoe's  thoughts 
ran  in  quite  another  cliannel ;  but  she 
was  no  easier  in  her  mind.  It  really 
seemed  as  if  Severne  had  given  her 
the  slip.  Probably  he  would  explain 
his  conduct ;  but,  then,  that  P\inny 
should  foretell  he  would  avoid  her 
company,  rather  than  call  on  Rlade- 
moiselle  Klosking,  and  that  Faimy 
should  be  right — this  made  the  thing 
serious,  and  galled  Zoe  to  the  quick : 
she  was  angry  with  Fanny  for  proph- 
esying truly  ;  she  was  rather  angry 
with  Severne  for'  not  coming,  and 
more  angry  with  him  for  making  good 
Fanny's  prediction. 

Zoe  Vizard  was  a  good  girl  and  a 
generous  girl,  but  she  was  not  a  hum- 
ble girl :  she  had  a  great  deal  of  pride, 
and  her  share  of  vanity,  and  here  both 
were  galled.  Besides  that,  it  seemed 
to  her  most  strange  and  dishearten- 
ing, that  Fanny,  who  did  not  love  Sev- 
erne, should  be  able  to  foretell  his  con- 
duct better  than  she,  who  did  love  him  : 
such  foresiglit  looked  like  greater  in- 
sight. All  tliis  humiliated  and  also 
puzzled  her  strangely ;  and  so  she  sat 
brooding  as  deeply  as  her  brother. 

As  for  Vizard,  by  the  time  they  got 
to  Homburg  he  had  made  up  his  mind. 
As  they  got  out  of  the  train,  he  said, 
"  Look  here,  I  am  asliamed  of  myself. 
I  have  a  right  to  play  the  fool  alone ; 
but  I  have  no  business  to  drag  my  sis- 
ter into  it.  We  will  go  somewhere 
else.  Tiiere  are  lots  of  tilings  to  see. 
I  give  up  the  Klosking." 

Zoe  stared  at  him  a  moment,  and 
then  answered,  with  cold  decision, 
"No,  dear;  you  must  allow  me  to 
call  on  her,  now  I  am  here.  She 
won't  bite  mc." 

"  Well,  but  it  is  a  strange  thing  to 
do." 


58 


A  WOMAN-IIATEH. 


"  Wliat  does  that  matter  ?  We  are  1 
abroad." 

"  Come,  Zoe,  I  am  imu'li  obliged  to 
you  ;  but  give  it  up." 

"No,  dear." 

Harrington  smiled  at  her  pretty  per- 
emptoriness,  and  misunderstood  it. 
"This  is  carrying  sisterly  love  a  long 
way,"  said  he.  "  I  must  try  and  rise  to 
your  level.     I  won't  go  with  you." 

"Then  I  shall  go  alone." 

"  What  if  I  forbid  you,  miss?" 

She  tapped  him  on  the  clieek  with 
her  fingers.  "  Don't  afi'ect  the  tyrant, 
dear;  you  can't  manage  it.  Fanny 
said  S(juiething  that  has  mortified  me. 
I  shall  go.  You  fan  do  a.s  yon  like. 
But,  stop  ;  where  does  she  live?' 

"Suppose  I  decline  to  tell  you?  I 
am  seiiied  wiili  a  virtuuus  lit — a  reg- 
ular )iaroxysm." 

"  Then  I  shall  go  to  the  opera  and 
inquire,  dear.  But "  (coaxingly)  "  you 
will  tell  me,  dear." 

"There,"  said  Harrington,  "you 
wicked,  tempting  girl,  my  sham  virtue 
has  oozed  away,  and  my  real  mania 
triumphs.  She  lives  at  'i'he  Golden 
Star.  I  was  weak  enough  to  send 
Harris  in  last  niglit  to  learn." 

Zoe  smiled. 

He  hailed  a  conveyance  ;  and  they 
started  at  once  for  'llie  Golden  Star. 

"Zoe,"  said  Harrington,  gravely, 
"something  tells  me  I  am  going  to 
meet  mv  fate." 

"  Airthe  better,"  said  Zoe.  "I  wish 
you  to  meet  your  fate.  My  love  for 
my  brother  is  not  selfish.  1  am  sure 
she  is  a  good  woman.  Perhaps  I  may 
lind  out  something." 

"  About  what  >" 

"  Oh,  never  mind." 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

Ar,L  this  time  Ina  Klosking  was  re- 
hearsing at  the  theatre,  quite  uncon- 
scious of  the  imiK'iiding  visit.  A  roy- 
i\\  jiersonage  had  commanded  "II 
Barbiere,"  the  part  of  Rosina  to  be  re- 


stored to  the  original  key.  It  was 
written  for  a  contralto,  but  transposed 
by  the  influence  of  Grisi. 

Having  no  j)erformance  that  night, 
they  began  to  rehearse  rather  later 
than  usual,  and  did  not  leave  off  till  a 
(piarter  to  four  o'clock.  Ina,  wlio  suf- 
fered a  good  deal  at  rehearsals  from 
the  inaccuracy  and  apathy  f)f  the  jieo- 
ple,  went  home  fagged,  and  with  her 
throat  parciied  —  so  does  a  bad  re- 
hearsal affect  all  good  and  earnest 
artists. 

She  ordered  a  cutlet,  with  potato 
cliips,  and  lay  down  on  the  sofa. 
Wliile  she  was  rejjosing,  came  Josejih 
Ashmead,  to  cheer  her,  with  good 
photographs  of  her,  taken  the  day  be- 
fore. She  smiled  gratefully  at  his  zeal. 
He  also  reminded  her  tli.at  he  had  or- 
ders to  take  her  to  the  Kursaal :  lie 
said  the  tables  would  be  well  filled 
from  five  o'clock  till  quite  late,  there 
being  no  other  entertainment  on  foot 
that  evening. 

Ina  thanked  him,  and  said  she  would 
not  miss  going  on  any  account ;  but 
she  was  rather  fatigued  and  faint. 

"  Oh,  I'll  wait  for  j'ou  as  long  as  you 
like,"  said  Ashmead,  kindly. 

"No.  my  good  comrade,"  said  Ina. 
"  I  will  ask  you  to  go  to  the  manager 
and  get  me  a  little  money,  and  then  to 
the  Kursaal  and  secure  me  a  jjlace  at 
the  table  in  the  largest  room.  There 
I  will  join  you.  If  he  is  not  there — 
and  I  am  not  so  mad  as  to  think  he 
will  be  there — I  shall  risk  a  few  jiieccs 
myself",  to  be  nearer  him  in  mind." 

This  amazed  Ashmead  ;  it  was  so 
unlike  her.  "  Vou  are  joking,"  said 
he.  "Why,  if  you  lose  five  napole- 
ons at  play,  it  will  be  your  death  ;  you 
will  grizzle  so." 

"Yes;  but  I  shall  not  lose.  I  am 
too  unlucky  in  love  to  lose  at  cards. 
I  mean  to  play  this  afternoon ;  and 
never  again  in  all  my  life.  Sir,  I  am 
resolved." 

"Oh,  if  you  arc  resolved,  there  i» 
no  more  to  be  said.  1  wrai't  run  my 
head  against  a  luick  w;ill." 

Ina,  being  half  a  foreigner,  thought 


A  WO.MAN-HATER. 


59 


tliis  ratlier  l)nisqne.  She  looked  at 
him  askiiiit,  and  said,  quietly,  "Oth- 
ers, besides  me,  can  be  stubborn,  and 
get  tlieir  own  way,  wliile  speaking  the 
language  of  submission.  Not  1  in- 
vented volition." 

With  tliis  flea  in  his  ear,  the  faith- 
ful Joseph  went  oft",  chuckling,  and 
obtained  an  advance  from  the  man- 
ager, and  then  proceeded  to  the  prin- 
cipal gaming-table,  and,  after  waiting 
some  time,  secured  a  chair,  which  he 
kept  for  his  chief. 

An  hour  went  by ;  an  hour  and  a 
half.  He  was  obliged,  for  very  shame, 
to  bet.  Tliis  he  did,  five  francs  at  a 
time ;  and  his  risk  was  so  small,  and 
his  luck  so  even,  that  by  degrees  he 
was  drawn  into  conversation  with  his 
neighbor,  a  young  swell,  who  was 
watching  the  run  of  the  colors,  and 
betting  in  silver,  and  pricking  a  card, 
preparatory  to  going  in  for  a  great 
coup.  Meantime  he  favored  Mr.  Ash- 
mead  with  his  theory  of  chances,  and 
Ashmead  listened  very  politely  to  ev- 
ery word ;  because  he  was  rather 
proud  of  the  other's  notice :  he  was 
so  handsome,  well  dressed,  and  well 
spoken. 

Meantime  Ina  Klosking  snatched  a 
few  minutes'  sleep,  as  most  artists  can 
in  the  afternoon,  and  was  awakened 
by  the  servant  bringing  in  her  frugal 
re[)ast,  a  cutlet  and  a  pint  of  Bor- 
deaux. 

On  her  plate  he  brought  her  a  largo 
card, on  which  was  printed  "Miss  Zoe 
Vizard."  This  led  to  inquiries,  and  he 
tokl  her  a  lady  of  superlative  beauty 
had  called  and  left  that  card,  lua 
asked  for  a  description. 

"Ah,  madame,"said  Karl,  "do not 
expect  details  from  me.  I  was  too 
dazzled,  and  struck  by  lightning,  to 
make  an  inventory  of  her  charms." 

"At  least  you  can  tell  me  was  she 
dark  or  fair." 

"  Madame,  she  was  dark  as  night ; 
but  glorious  as  the  sun.  Her  earthly 
abode  is  the  llussie,  at  Frankfort  ; 
blest  hotel !" 

"  Did  she  ti'll  vou  so?" 


"  Indirectly.  .She  wrote  on  the  card 
with  tiie  smallest  jtencil  I  have  hither- 
to witnessed  :  the  letters  are  faint,  the 
pencil  being  inferior  to  the  case,  which 
was  golden.  Nevertheless,  as  one  is 
naturally  curious  to  learn  whence  a 
bright  vision  has  emerged,  I  permitted 
myself  to  decipher." 

"Your  curiosity  was  natural,"  said 
Ina,  dryly.  "  I  will  detain  you  with 
no  more  questions." 

She  put  the  card  carefully  away, 
and  eat  her  modest  repast.  Then  she 
made  her  afternoon  toilet,  and  walked, 
slowly  and  pensively,  to  the  Kursaal. 

Nothing  tliere  was  new  to  her,  ex- 
cept to  be  going  to  the  table  without 
the  man  on  whom  it  was  her  misfort- 
une to  have  wasted  her  heart  of  gold. 

I  think,  therefore,  it  would  be  bet- 
ter for  me  to  enter  the  place  in  com- 
pany with  our  novices  ;  and,  indeed, 
we  must,  or  we  shall  derange  the  true 
order  of  time  and  sequence  of  inci- 
dents ;  for,  please  observe,  all  the  En- 
glish ladies  of  our  story  met  at  the 
Kursaal  while  Ina  was  reposing  on 
her  sofa. 

The  first-comers  were  Zoe  and  Har- 
rington. Tiiey  entered  the  noble  hall, 
inscribed  their  names,  and,  by  that 
simple  ceremony,  were  members  of  a 
club,  comjiared  with  which  the  great- 
est clubs  iu  London  are  jietty  things: 
a  club  with  spacious  dining- looms, 
ball-rooms,  concert-rooms,  gambling- 
rooms,  theatre,  and  delicious  gardens. 
The  building,  that  combined  so  many 
rich  treats,  was  colossal  in  size,  and 
glorious  with  rich  colors  and  gold  laid 
on  with  OiitMital  profusion,  and  some- 
times with  Oriental  taste. 

Harrington  took  his  sister  through 
the  drawing-rooms  first ;  and  she  ad- 
mired the  unusual  loftiness  of  the 
rooms,  the  blaze  of  white  and  gold, 
and  oi  celadon  and  gold,  and  the  great 
Itussian  lustres,  and  the  miglity  mir- 
rors. But  when  they  got  to  the  din- 
ing-room she  was  enchanted.  That 
lofty  and  magnificent  salon,  with  its 
daring  mixture  of  red  ami  black,  and 
green  and  blue,  all  melted  into  bar- 


60 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


mony  by  the  rivevs  of  gold  that  ran 
boldly  ainoiit;  them,  went  to  her  very 
heart.  A  Greek  is  half  an  Oriental ; 
and  Zee  had  what  may  be  called  the 
courage  of  color.  "Glorious  !"  she 
cried,  and  clasped  her  hands.  "And 
see!  what  a  background  to  the  eme- 
rald grass  outside  and  the  ruby  flow- 
ers. They  seem  to  come  into  the  room 
through  those  monster  windows." 

"Splendid!"  said  Harrington,  to 
whom  all  this  was  literally  Greek. 
"I'm  so  excited,  I'll  order  dinner." 

"Dinner!"  said  Zoe,  disdainfully  ; 
and  sat  down  and  eyed  the  Moresque 
walls  around  her,  and  the  beauties  of 
nature  outside,  and  brought  them  to- 
gether in  one  picture. 

Harrington  was  a  long  time  in  con- 
clave with  M.  Clievet.  Then  Zoe  be- 
came impatient. 

"  Oh,  do  leave  off  oidering  dinner," 
said  she,  "and  take  me  out  to  that 
other  paradise." 

The  Chevet  shrugged  his  shoulders 
with  pity.  Vizard  shrugged  bis  too, 
to  soothe  him  ;  and,  after  a  few  more 
hurried  words,  took  tlie  lover  of  color 
into  the  garden.  It  was  delicious, 
with  green  slopes,  and  rich  foliage, 
and  flowers,  and  enlivened  by  brigiit 
silk  dresses,  sparkling  fltfully  among 
the  green  leaves,  or  flaming  out  bold- 
ly in  the  sun  ;  and,  as  luck*vould  have 
it,  before  Zoe  had  taken  ten  steps  upon 
the  greensward,  the  band  of  fifty  mu- 
sicians struck  up,  and  played  as  fifty 
men  rarely  play  together  out  of  Ger- 
many. 

Zoe  was  enchanted.  She  walked 
on  air,  and  beamed  as  bright  as  any 
flower  in  the  jilace. 

After  her  first  ejaculation  at  the 
sudden  music,  she  did  not  speak  for  a 
good  wiiile  ;  her  content  was  so  great. 
At  last  she  said,  "And  do  they  leave 
this  paradise  to  gamble  in  a  room  ?  ' 

"Leave  it?  They  shun  it.  The 
gamblers  despise  the  flowers." 

"How  perverse  jieople  are!  Ex- 
citement !  Who  wants  any  more  than 
this?' 

"  Zoe,"  said  Vizard,  "  innocent  ex- 


citement can  never  compete  with  vi- 
cious." 

"  What,  is  it  really  wicked  to  jjlay  ?" 
"I  don't  know  about  wicked;  you 
girls  always  run  to  the  biggest  word. 
But,  if  avarice  is  a  vice,  gambling  can 
not  be  virtuous ;  for  the  root  of  gam- 
bling is  mere  avarice,  weak  avarice. 
C'ome,  my  young  friend,  as  we're  quite 
alone,  I'll  drop  Thersites,  and  talk 
sense  to  you,  for  once.  Cliild,  there 
are  two  roads  to  wealth ;  one  is  by  the 
way  of  industry,  skill,  vigilance,  and 
self-denial;  and  these  are  virtues, 
though  sometimes  they  go  with  tricks 
of  trade,  hardness  of  iieart,  and  taking 
advantage  of  misfortune,  to  buy  cheap 
and  sell  dear.  The  other  road  to 
wealth  is  by  bold  s]ieculation,  with 
risk  of  proportionate  loss;  in  short, 
by  gambling  with  cards,  or  without 
them.  Now,  look  into  the  mind  of  the 
gamljler — he  wants  to  make  money, 
contrary  to  nature,  and  unjustly.  He 
wants  to  be  rewarded  without  merit, 
to  make  a  fortune  in  a  moment,  and 
without  industry,  vigilance,  true  skill, 
or  self-denial.  'A  penny  saved  is  a 
penny  gained'  does  not  enter  his 
creed.  Strip  the  thing  of  its  disguise, 
it  is  avarice,  sordid  avarice ;  and  I 
call  it  weak  avarice,  because  the  gam- 
bler relies  on  chance  alone,  yet  accejits 
uneven  chances,  and  hopes  that  Fort- 
une will  be  as  much  in  love  with  him 
as  he 'is  with  himself.  Wiiat  silly 
egotism!  You  admire  the  Kursaal, 
and  you  are  right;  then  do  just  ask 
yourself  why  is  thci'e  nothing  to  i)ay 
for  so  many  expensive  enjoyments : 
and  very  little  to  pay  for  concerts  and 
balls ;  low  prices  at  the  opera,  which 
never  pays  its  own  expenses ;  even 
Ciievct's  diimers  are  reasonable,  if  you 
avoid  his  sham  Johaniiisberg.  All 
these  cheap  delights,  the  gold,  the 
colors,  the  garden,  the  music,  the 
lights,  are  paid  for  by  tlie  losses  of 
feeble-minded  Avarice.  But,  tliere^ 
I  said  all  this  to  Ned  Severne,  and  I 
might  as  well  have  preached  sense  to 
the  wind." 

"Harrington,  I  will  not  play.      I 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


CI 


am  much  happier  walking  with  my 
good  brotlier — " 
"Faute  de  mieux." 
Zoe  bkished,  but  would  not  liear — 
"And  it  is  so  good  of  you  to  make  a 
friend  of  me,  and  talk  sense.  Oh ! 
see — a  lady  with  two  blues!  Come 
and  look  at  her." 

Before  they  had  taken  five  steps, 
Zoe  stopped  short,  and  said,  "  It  is 
Fanny  Dover,  I  declare.  She  has  not 
seen  us  yet.  She  is  short-sighted. 
Come  here."  And  the  impetuous 
maid  dragged  him  otf  behind  a  tuft  of 
foliage. 

When  she  had  got  him  tliere  she 
said  hotly  that  it  was  too  bad. 

"Oh,  is  it?"  said  he,  very  calmly. 
"What?" 

"Why,  don't  you  see  what  she  has 
done  ?  You,  so  sensible,  to  be  so  slow 
about  women's  ways  ;  and  you  are  al- 
ways pretending  to  know  tliem.  Wliy, 
slie  has  gone  and  bought  that  costume 
with  the  money  you  gave  her  to  play 
with." 

"Sensible  girl!" 

"Dishonest  girl,  /call  her." 

"  There  you  go  to  your  big  words. 
No,  no.  A  little  money  was  given 
her  for  a  bad  purpose.  She  has  used 
it  for  a  frivolous  one.  That  is  '  a  step 
in  the  right  direction ' — ^jargon  of  the 
day." 

"But  to  receive  money  for  one 
purpose,  and  apply  it  to  another,  is — 
what  do  you  call  it  —  chose  ?  —  de- 
tournement  des  fonds — what  is  the  En- 
glish word  ?  I've  been  abroad  till  I've 
forgotten  English.  Oh,  I  know — em- 
bezzlement." 

"Well,  that  is  a  big  word  for  a 
small  transaction ;  you  have  not  dug 
in  tlie  mine  of  the  vernacular  for 
nothing." 

"Harrington,  if  yon  don't  mind,  I 
do ;  so  please  come.     I'll  talk  to  her." 

"  Stop  a  moment, ''said  Vizard,  very 
gravely.  "  You  will  not  say  one  word 
to  her!" 

"And  why  not,  pray?" 

"Because  it  would  be  unworthy 
of  us,  and  cruel  to  her ;  barbarously 


cruel.     What!  call  her  to  account  be- 
fore that  old  woman  and  me?" 

"Why  not?  She  is  flaunting  her 
blues  before  you  two,  and  plenty  more. " 
"Feminine  logic,  Zoe.  The  point 
is  this — she  is  poor.  You  must  know 
that.  This  comes  of  poverty  and  love 
of  dress  ;  not  of  dishonesty  and  love 
of  dress ;  and  just  ask  yourself,  is 
there  a  creature  that  ought  to  be  jjitied 
more,  and  handled  more  delicately, 
than  a  poor  lady  ?  Why,  you  would 
make  her  writhe  with  shame  and  dis- 
tress !  Well,  I  do  think  there  is  not 
a  single  wild  animal  so  cruel  to  an- 
other wild  animal  as  a  woman  is  to  a 
woman.  You  are  cruel  to  one  another 
by  instinct.  But  I  appeal  to  your  rea- 
son— if  you  have  any. " 

Zoe's'eyes  filled.  "  You  are  right," 
said  she,"humbly.  "Thank  you  for 
thinking  for  me.  I  will  not  say  a 
word  to  her  before  you." 

"That  is  a  good  girl.  But,  come 
now,  why  say  a  word  at  all  ?" 

"Oh,  it  is  no  use  your  demanding 
impossibilities,  dear.  I  could  no  more 
help  speaking  to  her  than  I  could  fly; 
and  don't  go  fancying  she  will  care  a 
pin  what  I  say,  if  I  don't  say  it  before 
a  gentleman." 

Having  given  him  this  piece  of  in- 
formation, she  left  her  ambush,  and 
proceeded  to  meet  the  all-unconscious 
i)hie  girl;  but,  even  as  tliey  went. 
Vizard  returned  to  his  normal  condi- 
tion, and  doled  out,  rather  indolently, 
that  they  were  out  on  pleasure,  and 
might  possibly  miss  the  object  of  the 
excursion,  if  they  were  to  encourage 
a  habit  of  getting  into  rages  about 
nothing. 

Zoe  was  better  than  her  word. 
She  met  Fanny  with  open  admira- 
tion :  to  be  sure,  slie  knew  that  apathy, 
or  even  tranquillity,  on  first  meeting 
the  blues,  would  be  instantly  set  down 
to  envy. 

"And  wliere  did  you  get  it,  dear?" 

"At  quite  a  small  shop." 

"French?" 

"Oh  no;  I  think  she  was  an  Aus- 
trian.   This  is  not  a  French  mixture  : 


62 


A  WOMAN-IIATEU. 


loud,  discordant  colors,  tliat  is  the 
,  French  taste." 

"Here  is  heresy,"  said  Vizard. 
"  Why,  I  thought  th"e  French  beat  the 
world  in  dress." 

"  Yes,  dear,"  said  Zoe, "  in  form  and 
pattern.  ]5ut  Fanny  is  right ;  they 
make  mistakes  in  color.  'I'hcy  are 
terribly  afraid  of  scarlet ;  but  they  are 
afraid  of  nothing  else :  and  many  of 
their  mixtiu'es  are  as  discordant  to  the 
eye  as  Wagner's  music  to  the  ear. 
Now,  after  all,  scailet  is  tlie  king  of 
colors ;  and  there  is  no  harm  in  King 
Scarlet,  if  you  treat  him  witli  respect, 
and  put  a  modest  subject  next  to  him." 

"Gypsy  locks,  for  instance,"  sug- 
gested Fanny,  slyly. 

Miss  Maiiland  owned  herself  puz- 
zled. "  In  my  day,"  said  she,  "  no  one 
ever  thought  of  putting  blue  upon  blue ; 
but  really,  somehow,  it  looks  well." 

"May  I  tell  you  why,  aunt? — be- 
cause the  dress-maker  had  a  real  eye, 
and  has  chosen  the  right  tints  of  blue. 
It  is  all  nonsense  about  one  color  not 
going  with  anotlier.  Nature  defies 
that ;  and  how  ?  by  choosing  the  very 
tints  of  each  color  that  will  go  togeth- 
er. The  sweetest  room  I  ever  saw 
was  painted  by  a  great  artist;  and, 
do  you  know,  he  luul  colored  the  ceil- 
ing blue  and  the  wails  green  :  and  I 
assure  you  the  effect  was  heavenly : 
but,  then,  he  had  chosen  the  exact  tints 
of  green  and  blue  that  would  go  to- 
gether. The  dra])eries  were  between 
crimson  and  maroon.  But  there's  an- 
other thing  in  Fanny's  dress  ;  it  is  vel- 
vet. Now,  blue  velvet  is  blue  to  the 
mind ;  but  it  is  not  blue  to  the  eye. 
You  try  and  i)aint  blue  velvet ;  you 
will  be  surprised  how  much  white  you 
must  lay  on.  The  iiigh  lights  of  all 
velvets  are  white.  This  white  lieljis 
to  blend  the  two  tints  of  blue." 

"This  is  very  instructive,"  said  "Viz- 
ard. "  I  was  not  aware  I  had  a  sis- 
ter, youthful,  but  profound.  Let  us  go 
in  and  dine." 

Fanny  demurred.  She  said  she  be- 
lieved Miss  Maitland  wishcil  to  take 
one  turn  round  the  gromuis  first. 


Miss  Mailland  stared,  but  assented 
in  a  meciianical  way  ;  and  they  com- 
menced their  ))romenade. 

Zoe  hung  i)ack,  and  beckoned  lier 
brother.  "  Miss  Maitland  !"  said  she, 
with  such  an  air.  "  ^S/ie  wants  to 
show  her  blues  to  all  the  world  and 
his  wife." 

"  Very  natural,"  said  Vizard.  "  So 
would  you,  if  you  were  in  a  scarlet 
gown,  with  a  crimson  cloak." 

Zoe  lauglied  heartily  at  this,  and  for- 
gave Fanny  her  new  dress:  but  she 
had  a  worse  bone  than  that  to  pick 
with  her. 

It  was  a  short  but  agreeable  prom- 
eiuule  to  Zoe,  for  now  they  were  alone, 
her  brother,  instead  of  sneering,  com- 
plimented her. 

"  Never  you  mind  my  imperti- 
nence," said  he  ;  "  the  truth  is,  I  am 
proud  of  you.     You  are  an  observer." 

"Me':*     Oh— in  color." 

"Never  mind:  an  observer  is  an 
observer;  and  geiniine  observation  is 
not  so  common.  Men  see  and  hear 
with  their  prejudices,  and  not  their 
senses.  Now  we  are  going  to  those 
gaming-tables.  At  first,  of  course, 
you  will  play ;  but,  as  .soon  as  ever 
you  are  cleaned  out,  observe!  Let 
nothing  escape  that  woman's  eye  of 
yours  :  ami  so  we'll  get  something  for 
our  money." 

"  Harrington,"  said  the  girl,  proud- 
ly, "  I  will  he  all  eye  and  ear." 

Soon  after  this  they  went  in  to  din- 
ner. Zoe  cast  her  eyes  round  for 
Sevcrne,  and  was  manifestly  disa])- 
pointed  at  his  not  meeting  them  even 
there. 

As  for  Fanny,  slic  had  attracted 
wonderfid  attention  in  the  garden,  and 
was  elated ;  her  conscience  did  not 
l)rick  her  in  the  least,  for  such  a  tritle 
as  delournement  de.s  fonds  ;  and  pub- 
lie  admiration  did  not  improve  her. 
She  was  sprightly  and  talkative  as 
usual ;  but  now  siie  was  also  a  trifle 
brazen,  and  pert  all  round. 

And  so  the  dinner  passed,  and  they 
proceeded  to  the  gammg-tables. 

Miss  Maitland  and  Zoe  led.     Fan- 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


C3 


ny  and  Harrington  followed  :  for  Miss 
Dover,  elated  by  the  blues — thougli, 
by-the-bye,  one  hears  of  them  as  de- 
pressing—  and  encouraged  by  admi- 
ration and  Chevet's  violet -perfumed 
St.  Peray,  took  Harrington's  arm,  real- 
ly as  if  it  belonged  to  lier. 

They  went  into  the  library  first,  and, 
after  a  careless  inspection,  came  to  the 
great  attraction  of  the  place.  They 
entered  one  of  the  gambling-rooms. 

The  first  impression  was  disappoint- 
ing. There  were  two  very  long  tables, 
rounded  off  at  the  ends :  one  for  trente 
et  quarante  and  one  for  roulette.  At 
each  table  were  seated  a  number  of 
persons,  and  others  standing  behind 
them.  Among  the  persons  seated 
was  the  dealer,  or,  in  roulette,  the 
spinner.  'J'his  official  sat  in  the  cen- 
tre, flanked  on  each  side  by  crou- 
piers w  itii  rakes ;  but  at  each  end  of 
the  table  there  was  also  a  croupier  with 
his  rake. 

The  rest  were  players  or  lookers-on  ; 
most  of  wiiom,  by  well-known  gra- 
dations of  curiosity  and  weakness,  to 
describe  which  minutely  would  be  to 
write  a  little  comedy  that  others  have 
already  written,  were  drawn  into  play- 
ing at  last.  Ho  fidgets  the  moth  about 
the  candle  before  he  makes  up  what, 
no  doubt,  the  poor  little  soul  calls  his 
mind. 

Our  little  party  stopped  first  at 
trente  et  quarante,  and  Zoe  com- 
menced her  observations.  Instead  of 
tlic  wild  excitement  she  had  heard  of, 
there  was  a  subdued  air,  a  forced  qui- 
et, especially  among  the  seated  players. 
A  stern  eti(piette  presided,  and  the 
gamblers  sluouded  themselves  in  well- 
bred  stoicism  —  losing  without  open 
distress  or  ire,  wimiing  without  open 
exultation.  The  old  hands,  especial- 
ly, began  play  with  a  padlock  on  the 
tongue  and  a  mask  upon  the  face. 
There  are  masks,  however,  that  do  not 
hide  the  eye  ;  and  Miss  Vizard  caught 
some  flashes  that  escaped  the  masks 
even  tiien  at  the  commencement  of  the 
play.  Still,  external  stoicism  ])revail- 
cd,  on  the  wiiole,  and  had  a  fixed  ex- 


ample in  the  tailleur  and  the  crou- 
pieis.  Playing  many  hours  every  day 
in  the  year  but  Good-Friday,  and  al- 
ways with  other  peojile's  money,  these 
men  had  parted  witli  passion,  and  al- 
most with  sensation  ;  they  had  become 
skillful  automata,  chanting  a  stave, 
and  raking  up  or  scattering  haycocks 
of  g(dd,  which  to  them  were  counters. 

It  was  with  the  monotonous  voice 
of  an  automaton  they  intoned, 

"Faites  le  jeu,  messieu,  messieu." 

Then,  after  a  pause  of  ten  seconds, 

"Le  jeu  est  fait,  messieu." 

Then,  after  two  seconds, 

"  Kien  ne  va  plus." 

Then  mumble — mumble — mumble. 

Then,  "La!  Kouge  perd  et  cou- 
leur,"  or  whatever  might  be  the  re- 
sult. 

Then  the  croupiers  first  raked  in  the 
players'  losses  with  vast  expedition ; 
next,  the  croupiers  in  charge  of  the 
funds  chucked  the  precise  amount  of 
the  winnings  on  to  each  stake  with  un- 
erring dexterity  and  the  indifference 
of  machines ;  and  the  chant  recom- 
menced," Faites  le  jeu,  messieu." 

Pause,  ten  seconds. 

"  Le  jeu  est  fait,  messieu." 

Pause,  two  seconds. 

"  Kien  ne  va  plus." 

The  tailleur  dealt,  and  the  croupier 
intoned,  "La!  Kouge  gagne  et  cou- 
leiir  perd  :"  the  meclianical  raking  and 
dexterous  chucking  followed. 

Tliis,  with  a  low  buzzing,  and  the 
deadened  jingle  of  gold  upon  green 
cloth,  and  the  light  grating  of  the 
croupiers'  rakes,  was  the  first  impres- 
sion uj)on  Zoe's  senses  ;  but  the  mere 
game  did  not  monopolize  her  atten- 
tion many  seconds.  There  were  oth- 
er things  better  worth  noting :  the 
great  varieties  of  human  type  that  a 
single  passion  had  brought  together  in 
a  small  German  towTi.  Her  ear  was 
regaled  with  such  a  j)olyglot  murmur 
as  she  had  read  of  in  Genesis,  but  had 
never  witnessed  befoie. 

Here  were  tiie  sharp  Tuscan  and 
the  mellow  Koman  ;  the  sibilation  of 
England,  the  brogue  of  Ireland,  the 


CI 


A  WOMAN-IIATEIl. 


shibboleth  of  the  IMinoiics,  the  twans 
ot"  certain  American  IStates,  tiic  gut- 
tural expectoration  of  Germany,  tlie 
nasal  empliasis  of  France,  and  even 
the  modulated  llindoostanec,  and  the 
sonorous  Spanish,  all  mingling. 

Tiie  types  of  face  Avere  as  various 
as  the  tongues. 

Here  were  the  green-eyed  Tartar, 
the  black-eyed  Italian,  and  tiie  gray- 
eyed  Saxon;  faces  all  cheek-bones, 
and  faces  no  cheek-bones;  the  red 
Arabian,  the  fair  Dane,  and  the  dark 
Hindoo. 

Her  woman's  eye  seized  another 
phenomenon  —  the  hands.  Not  na- 
tions only,  but  varieties  of  the  animal 
kingdom  were  represented.  Here  were 
the  white  hands  of  fair  women,  and  the 
red  paws  of  obese  sliop-keepers,  and 
the  yellow,  bird-like  claws  of  old  with- 
ered gamesters,  all  stretched  out,  side 
by  side,  in  strange  contrast,  to  ]ilace 
the  stakes  or  scratch  in  the  winnings  ; 
and  often  the  winners  put  their  palms 
or  paws  on  their  heap  of  gold,  just  as 
a  dog  does  on  a  bone  when  other  dogs 
are  Jiigh. 

But  what  Zoe's  eye  rested  on  long- 
est were  the  costume  and  deportment 
of  the  ladies.  A  few  were  in  good 
taste ;  others  aimed  at  a  greater  varie- 
ty of  beautiful  colors  than  the  fair  have, 
up  to  tliis  date,  succeeded  in  combin- 
ing, without  inflicting  more  pain  on 
the  beholders  than  a  beneficent  Cre- 
ator— so  far  as  we  can  judge  by  his 
own  system  of  color — intended  the  cul- 
tivated eye  to  suffer.  Example — as 
the  old  writers  used  to  say — one  lady 
fired  the  air  in  primrose  satin,  with 
red-velvet  trimming.  Tiiis  mild  mixt- 
ure re -appeared  on  her  head  in  a 
])ritnro.se  iiat  with  a  red  feather.  A 
gold  chain,  so  i)ig  that  it  would  have 
done  for  a  felon  instead  of  a  fool,  en- 
circled her  neck,  and  was  weiglited 
with  innumerable  lockets,  which  in 
size  and  inventive  taste  reseml)ied  a 
poached  egg,  and  betrayed  the  insular 
goldsmitli.  A  train  three  yards  long 
completed  this  gorgeous  figtu'c.  She 
had  commenced  life  a  shrimp-girl,  and 


pushed  a  dredge  before  her,  instead  of 
pulling  a  silken  besom  after  her.  An- 
other stately  queen  (with  an  "a") 
lieated  the  atmosphere  with  a  burnous 
of  tiiat  color  the  French  cixW  Jlanane 
d'en/er,  and  cooled  it  witii  a  green 
bonnet.  A  third  a])peared  to  have 
been  struck  with  the  beauty  of  a  paint- 
er's palette,  and  the  skill  .witii  which 
its  colors  mix  before  the  brush  spoils 
them.  Green  body,  violet  skirts,  rose- 
colored  ti'immings,  i)urple  sleeves, 
light-green  boots,  lavender  gloves.  A 
shawl  all  gauze  and  gold,  floimced  like 
a  petticoat ;  a  bonnet  so  small,  and 
red  feather  so  enormous  and  all-jire- 
dominant,  that  a  jieacock  seemed  to 
be  sitting  on  a  hedge-sparrow's  nest. 

Zoe  suspected  tliese  polychromatic 
ladies  at  a  glance,  and  observed  their 
manners,  in  a  mistrustful  spirit,  caie- 
fully.  She  was  little  surprised,  though 
a  good  deal  shockeil,  to  find  that  some 
of  tliem  seemed  fiimiliar,  and  almost 
jocular,  with  the  crouiiiers  ;  and  that, 
although  they  did  not  talk  loud,  being 
kept  in  order  by  the  general  etiquette, 
tiiey  rustled  and  fidgeted  and  jilayed 
in  a  devil-may-care  sort  of  manner. 
This  was  in  great  measure  accounted 
for  by  the  circumstance  that  they  were 
losing  other  ])eople's  money :  at  all 
events,  they  often  turned  their  heads 
over  their  shoulders,  and  ai)]jlied  for 
fresh  finids  to  their  male  conqiaiiions. 

Zoe  i)lushed  at  all  this,  and  said  to 
Vizard,  "  I  should  like  to  see  the  oth- 
er rooms."  She  wliis])ered  to  Miss 
Maitland,  "Surely  they  are  not  very 
select  in  this  one." 

"  Lead  on,"  said  Vizard  ;  "  that  is 
the  way." 

Fanny  had  not  parted  with  his  arm 
all  this  time.  As  they  followed  the 
others,  he  said,  "But  she  will  find  it 
is  all  the  same  thing." 

Fanny  langlied  in  his  face.  "  Don't 
you  see/  C'est  la  chasse  au  Sevcrne 
qui  commence." 

"  En  voila  un  se'v^re,"  replied  he. 

She  was  mute.  Siie  had  not  learn- 
ed that  sort  of  French  in  her  (iiiish- 
ing-school.     I  forgive  it. 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


65 


The  next  room  was  the  same  thing 
over  again. 

Zoe  stood  a  moment  and  drank  ev- 
ery tiling  in,  then  turned  to  Vizard, 
blushed,  and  said,  "May  we  play  a 
little  now  ?" 

"Whv,  ofcom-se." 

"Fanny!" 

"No;  you  begin,  dear.  We  will 
stand  by  and  wish  you  success." 

"You  are  a  coward,"  said  Zoe, 
loftily ;  and  went  to  the  table  witii 
more  changes  of  color  than  veteran 
lancers  betray  in  charging  infantry. 
It  was  the  roulette  table  slic  chose. 
That  seems  a  law  of  her  sex.  The 
true  solution  is  not  so  protbund  as 
some  that  have  been  ottered.  It  is 
this :  trente  et  quarante  is  not  only 
unintelligible,  but  uninteresting.  At 
roulette  tliere  is  a  pictorial  object  and 
dramatic  incident ;  the  board,  the  turn- 
ing of  tiie  moulinet,  and  the  swift  rev- 
olutions of  an  ivory  ball,  its  lowered 
speed,  its  irregular  bounds,  and  its 
final  settlement  in  one  of  tlie  many 
holes,  numbered  and  colored.  Here 
the  female  understanding  sees  sotne- 
tiiing  it  can  gras[),  and,  above  all,  the 
female  eye  catches  something  pictorial 
and  amusing  outside  tiie  loss  or  gain  ; 
and  so  she  goes,  i)y  her  nature,  to  rou- 
lette, which  is  a  greater  swindle  than 
the  other. 

Zoe  staked  five  pounds  on  No.  21, 
for  an  excellent  reason ;  she  was  in 
her  twenty-first  year.  The  ball  was 
so  illogical  as  to  go  into  No.  .'5,  and 
she  lost.  She  stood  by  her  number, 
and  lost  again.  Siie  lost  thirteen 
times  in  succession. 

The  fourteenth  time  the  ball  rolled 
into  21,  and  the  croupier  handed  her 
thirty-five  times  her  stake,  and  a  lot 
more  for  color. 

Her  eye  flashed,  and  her  cheek 
flushed,  and  I  siipi)ose  she  was  temjtt- 
cd  to  bet  more  heavily,  for  she  said, 
"  No.  That  will  never  h:i])pen  to  me 
agnin,  I  know;"  and  she  rose,  the 
richer  by  several  napoleons,  and  saiil, 
"Now  let  us  go  to  another." 

"Humph  !"  said  Vizard.     "  What 


an  extiaordinary  girl !  She  will  give 
the  devil  more  trouble  than  most  of 
you.     Here's  precocious  prudence." 

Fanny  laughed  in  his  face.  "  C'est 
la  chasse  qui  recommence,"  said  she. 

I  ought  to  explain  tliat  when  she 
was  in  England  she  did  not  inter- 
lard her  discourse  with  French  scraps. 
She  was  not  so  ill-bred.  But  abroad 
she  had  got  into  a  way  of  it,  through 
being  often  compelled  to  speak  French. 

Vizard  ajipreciated  the  sagacity  of 
the  remark,  but  he  did  not  like  the 
lady  any  the  better  for  it.  He  medi- 
tated in  silence.  He  remembered 
that,  when  they  were  in  the  garden, 
Zoe  had  hung  behind,  and  interpreted 
Faimy  ill-naturedly;  and  here  was 
Faimy  at  the  same  game,  literally 
backbiting,  or  back -nibbling,  at  all 
events.  Said  he  to  himself,  "And 
tiiese  two  are  friends !  female  friends. " 
And  he  uin-sed  his  misogyny  in  si- 
lence. 

They  came  into  a  very  noble  room, 
the  largest  of  all,  with  enormous  mir- 
rors down  to  tlie  ground,  and  a  ceil- 
ing blazing  with  gold,  and  tiie  air  glit- 
tering with  lustres.  Two  very  large 
tables,  and  a  distinguished  company 
at  each,  especially  at  the  trente  et 
quarante. 

Before  our  little  party  had  taken 
six  steps  into  the  room,  Zoe  stood  like 
a  pointer;  and  Fanny  iiacked.  Should 
these  terms  seem  disrespectful,  let 
Fanny  bear  the  blame.  It  is  her  ap- 
plication of  the  word  "chasse"  that 
drew  down  the  simile. 

Yes,  there  sat  Ned  Severne,  talk- 
ing familiarly  to  Joseph  Ashmead,  and 
preparing  to  "put  the  pot  on,"  as  he 
called  it. 

Now  Zoe  was  so  far  gone  that  the 
very  siglit  of  Severne  was  a  balsam  to 
her.  She  had  a  little  bone  to  pick 
with  him  ;  and,  when  he  was  out  of 
sight,  the  bone  seemed  pretty  large. 
But  when  she  saw  his  adorable  face, 
unconscious,  as  it  seemeti,  of  wrong, 
the  bono  faded,  and  the  face  shone. 

Her  own  face  cleared  at  the  sigiit 
of  him :   she  turned  back  to  Fanny 


GG 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


and  Vizard,  arch  and  smiling,  and  put 
Iier  finger  to  her  mouth,  as  much  as 
to  say,  "  Let  us  iiave  some  fun.  We 
Iiave  caught  our  truant :  let  us  watch 
him,  unseen,  a  little,  before  we  burst 
on  him." 

Vizard  enjoyed  this,  and  encouraged 
her  with  a  nod. 

Tiic  consequence  was  that  Zoe  drop- 
ped Miss  Maitland's  arm,  who  took 
that  o]ii)oitunity  to  turn  up  her  nose, 
and  began  to  creep  u])  like  a  young 
cat  after  a  bird;  taking  a  step,  and 
then  pausing;  then  another  step,  and 
a  long  i)ause ;  and  still  with  her  eye 
fixed  on  Severne.  lie  did  not  see 
her,  nor  her  companions,  ])artly  be- 
cause they  were  not  in  front  of  him, 
but  approaching  at  a  sharp  angle,  and 
also  because  he  was  just  then  begin- 
ning to  bet  heavily  on  his  system. 
By  this  means,  two  progressive  events 
went  on  contemporaneously  :  the  arch 
but  cat-like  advance  of  Zoe,  with 
pauses,  and  the  betting  of  Severne,  in 
which  he  gave  himself  the  benefit  of 
his  system. 

Noir  having  been  the  last  to  win, 
he  went  against  the  alternation,  and 
j)ut  fifty  poimds  on  noir.  Red  won. 
Tlien,  true  to  his  system,  he  doubled 
on  the  winning  color.  One  hundred 
pounds  on  red.  Black  won.  He 
dcnibled  on  black,  and  red  won  ;  and 
there  were  four  hundred  pounds  of  his 
five  hundred  gone  in  five  minutes. 

On  this  proof  that  tlie  likeliest  tiling 
to  happen  —  viz.,  alternation  of  the 
color — does  sometimes  happen,  Severne 
lost  heart. 

He  turned  to  Ashmead,  with  all  the 
superstition  of  a  gambler,  "  For  God's 
sake,  bet  for  mo!"  said  he.  He 
clutched  his  own  hair  convulsively,  in 
a  struggle  with  his  mania,  and  pre- 
vailed so  far  as  to  thrust  fifty  pounds 
into  his  own  pocket,  to  live  on,  and 
gave  Ashmead  five  tens. 

"Well,  but,"  said  Ashmead,  "you 
must  tell  me  what  to  do." 

"No,  no.  Bet  vour  own  way,  for 
me. 

He  had  hardly  uttered  these  words, 


when  he  seemed  to  glare  across  the 
table  at  the  great  mirror,  and,  sudden- 
ly i)Utting  his  handkerchief  to  his 
mouth,  he  made  a  bolt  sideways, 
plunged  amidst  the  by-standers,  and 
emerged  only  to  dash  into  a  room  at 
the  side. 

As  he  disappeared,  a  lady  came 
slowly  and  pensivel}'  forward  from  the 
outer  door ;  lifted  her  eyes  as  she 
neared  the  table,  saw  a  vacant  chair, 
and  glided  into  it,  revealing  to  Zoe 
Vizard  and  her  party  a  noble  face, 
not  so  splendid  and  animated  as  on 
the  stage,  for  its  expression  was 
slumbering ;  still  it  was  the  face  of 
Ina  Klosking. 

No  transformation  trick  was  ever 
done  more  neatly  and  smootiily  than 
this,  in  which,  nevertheless,  the  per- 
formers acted  without  concert. 

Severne  Hed  out,  and  the  Klosking 
came  slowly  in  ;  yet  no  one  had  time 
to  take  the  seat,  she  glided  into  it  so 
soon  after  Severne  had  vacated  it. 

Zoe  Vizard  and  her  fiiends  stared 
after  the  flying  Severne,  tlien  stared  at 
the  new-comer,  and  then  turned  roimd 
and  stared  at  each  other,  in  mutual 
amazement  and  inquiry. 

What  was  the  meaning  of  this 
double  incident,  that  resembled  a  con- 
jurer's trick  ? 

Having  looked  at  her  companions, 
and  seen  only  her  own  surjirise  re- 
flected, Zoe  Vizard  fixed  her  eyes,  like 
burning-glasses,  upon  Ina  Klosking. 

Then  tiiat  lady  thickened  the  mys- 
tery. She  seemed  very  familiar  with 
the  man  Severne  had  been  so  familiar 
with. 

That  man  contributed  his  share  to 
the  midtijilying  mystery.  He  had  a 
muddy  complexion,  hair  the  color  of 
dirt,  a  long  nose,  a  hatchet  face,  mean 
little  eyes,  and  was  evidently  not  a 
gentleman.  He  wore  a  brown  velvet- 
een shooting-coat,  with  a  magenta  tie 
that  gave  Zoe  a  pain  in  the  eye.  She 
had  already  felt  sorry  to  see  her  Sev- 
erne was  acquainted  with  such  a  man. 
He  seemed  to  her  the  ns  plus  ullra  of 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


67 


vulgarity ;  and  now,  behold,  the  artist, 
the  woman  she  had  so  admired,  was 
equally  familiar  with  the  same  objec- 
tionable person. 

To  appreciate  the  hopeless  puzzle 
of  Zoe  Vizard,  the  reader  must  be  on 
his  guard  against  his  own  knowledge. 
He  knows  that  Severne  and  Ashmead 
were  two  Bohemians,  who  had  struck 
up  acquaintance,  all  in  a  minute,  that 
very  evening.  But  Zoe  had  not  this 
knowledge,  and  she  could  not  possibly 
divine  it.  Tlie  whole  thing  was  pre- 
sented to  her  senses  thus :  a  vulgar 
man,  with  a  brown  velveteen  shooting- 
coat  and  a  red-hot  tie,  was  a  mutual 
friend  of  the  gentlemanly  Severne  and 
the  dignified  Klosking.  Severne  left 
the  mutual  friend ;  Mademoiselle  Klos- 
king joined  the  mutual  friend  ;  and 
there  she  sat,  where  Severne  had  sat 
a  moment  ago,  by  the  side  of  their 
mutual  friend. 

All  manner  of  thoughts  and  sin-- 
mises  thronged  upon  Zoe  Vizard  ;  but 
each  way  of  accounting  for  the  mys- 
tery contradicted  some  plain  firct  or 
other;  so  she  was  driven  at  last  to  a 
woman's  remedy.  Siie  would  wait, 
and  watch.  Severne  would  probably 
come  back,  and  somehow  furnish  the 
key.  Meantime  her  eye  was  not  like- 
ly to  leave  the  Klosking,  nor  her  ear 
to  miss  a  syllable  the  Klosking  might 
utter. 

She  whispered  to  Vizard,  in  a  very 
peculiar  tone,  "I  will  play  at  this  ta- 
ble," and  stepped  up  to  it,  with  the 
word. 

The  duration  of  such  beauty  as  Zoe's 
is  proverbially  limited  ;  but  the  limit 
to  its  power,  while  it  does  last,  has  not 
yet  been  discovered.  It  is  a  fact  that, 
as  soon  as  she  came  close  to  the  ta- 
ble, two  male  gamblers  looked  up, 
saw  her,  wondeied  at  her,  and  actual- 
ly jumped  up  and  otiered  their  seats : 
she  made  a  courteous  inclination  of 
the  head,  and  installed  Miss  Maiiland 
in  one  seat,  without  reserve.  She  put 
a  little  gold  on  the  table,  and  asked 
IMiss  Maitland,  in  a  wliisjicr,  to  play 
for  her.     She  herself  had  neither  eye 


nor  ear  except  for  Ina  Klosking. 
That  lady  was  having  a  discussion, 
sotto  voce,  with  Ashmead ;  and  if  she 
had  been  one  of  your  mumblers  whose 
name  is  legion,  even  Zoe's  swift  ear 
could  have  caught  little  or  nothing. 
But  when  a  voice  has  volume,  and  the 
great  habit  of  articulation  has  been 
brought  to  perfection,  the  words  travel 
surprisingly. 

Zoe  heard  the  lady  say  to  Ashmead, 
scarcely  above  her  breath,"  Well,  but 
if  he  requested  you  to  bet  for  him, 
how  can  he  blame  you  ?" 

Zoe  could  not  catcii  Ashmead's  re- 
ply, but  it  was  accompanied  by  a  shake 
of  the  head  ;  so  she  understood  him  to 
object. 

Then,  after  a  little  more  discussion, 
Ina  Klosking  said,"  What  money  have 
you  of  mine?" 

Ashmead  produced  some  notes. 

"Very  well,"  said  the  Klosking. 
"Now,  I  shall  take  my  twenty -five 
pounds,  and  twenty-five  pounds  of  his, 
and  play.  When  he  returns,  we  shall, 
at  all  events,  have  twenty-five  pounds 
safe  for  him.  I  take  the  responsibil- 
ity." 

"Oh,"  thought  Zoe;  "then  he  is 
coming  back.  Ah,  I  shall  see  what 
all  this  means."    She  felt  sick  at  heart. 

Zoe  Vizard  was  on  the  other  side, 
but  not  opposite  Mademoiselle  Klos- 
king; she  was  considerably  to  the 
right  hand;  and  as  the  new-comer 
was  much  occupied,  just  at  first,  with 
Ashmead,  who  sat  on  her  left,  Zoe  had 
time  to  dissect  her,  which  she  did  witii- 
out  mercy.  \\'ell,  her  costume  was 
beautifully  made,  and  fitted  on  a  sym- 
metrical figure  ;  but  as  to  color,  it  was 
neutral  —  a  warm  French  gray,  and 
neither  courted  admiration  nor  risketl 
censure  :  it  was  unpretending.  Her 
lace  collar  was  valuable,  but  not  strik- 
ing. Her  hair  was  beautiful,  both  in 
gloss  and  color,  and  beautifully,  but 
neatly,  arranged.  Her  gloves  and 
wristbands  were  jierfect. 

As  every  woman  aims  at  appear- 
ance, openly  or  secretly,  and  every  oth- 
er woman  knows  she  does,  Zoe  did  not 


G8 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


look  at  this  meek  dress  with  male  sim- 
])ru'ity,  unsuspicious  of  desij^n,  but  ask- 
ed iierself  wliat  was  tlie  leadin<;  motive ; 
and  the  (juesliou  was  no  sooner  asked 
tlian  answered.  "  She  has  diessed 
for  her  golden  hair  and  her  white 
tlu'oat.  Her  hair,  her  dee])  gray  eyes, 
and  lier  skin,  are  just  like  a  Hower: 
she  has  dressed  Iierself  as  tlie  modest 
stalk.     She  is  an  artist." 

At  the  same  tahle  were  a  Russian 
])rincess,  an  English  countess,  and  a 
bavarian  ducliess — all  well  dressed, 
upon  the  wliole.  But  their  dresses 
showed  off  their  dresses;  tlie  Klos- 
king's  sliowed  otfiierselt'.  And  there 
was  a  native  dignity,  and,  above  all,  a 
wonderful  secniiiness,  about  the  Klos- 
king  that  inspired  respect.  Dress  and 
deportment  were  all  of  a  piece — decent 
and  deep. 

While  Zee  was  picking  iier  to  pieces, 
Ina,  liaving  settled  matters  with  Ash- 
mead,  looked  up,  and,  of  course,  took 
in  every  other  woman  who  was  in 
sight  at  a  single  sweej).  IShe  recog- 
nized Zoe  directly,  witii  a  flush  of 
pleasure ;  a  sweet,  bright  expression 
broke  over  her  face,  and  she  bowed  to 
her  with  a  respectful  cordiality  that 
was  captivating.  Zoe  yielded  to  the 
charm  of  manner,  and  bowed  and 
smiled  in  return,  tiiough,  till  that  mo- 
ment, slie  had  been  knitting  her  black 
brows  at  her  in  wonder  and  vague  sus- 
picion. 

Ina  trifled  with  the  game,  at  first. 
Ashmead  was  still  talking  to  her  of 
the  young  swell  and  his  system.  He 
explained  it  to  her,  and  how  it  had 
failed.  "Not  but  what,"  said  he, 
"  there  is  a  great  deal  in  it  most  even- 
ings. l}ut  to-day  there  are  no  runs  ;  it 
is  all  turn  and  turn  ai)Out.  If  it  would 
rain,  now,  you  would  see  a  change." 

"  Well,"  said  Ina,"  I  will  bet  a  feu- 
pounds  on  red,  then  on  black,  till  these 
runs  begin." 

During  the  above  conversation,  of 
which  Zoe  caught  little,  because  Ash- 
mead was  the  chief  speaker,  she  cast 
lier  eyes  all  round  the  table,  and  saw 
a  curious  assemblage  of  figures. 


There  Avas  a  solemn  Turk  melting 
his  ])iastres  with  admirable  gravity ; 
there  was  the  Russian  ])rincess ;  and 
thei'e  was  a  lady,  diessed  in  loud,  in- 
congruous colors,  such  as  once  drew 
from  a  horrified  modiste  the  cry,  "Ah, 
Dieu  !  quelle  immoralite  !"  and  that's  a 
fact.  There  was  a  Popish  priest,  look- 
ing sheepish  as  he  staked  his  silver, 
aihi  an  Anglican  rector,  betting  fivers, 
and  as  nonchalant,  in  the  blest  absence 
of  liis  flock  and  the  Baptist  minister, 
as  if  he  were  playing  at  whist  with  the 
old  Bishop  of  Norwich,  who  played  a 
nightly  rubber  in  my  father's  day — and 
a  very  bad  one.  There  was  a  French 
count,  nearly  six  feet  high,  ta  whom 
the  word  "old"  would  have  been  un- 
just :  he  was  antiijue,  and  had  turned 
into  bones  and  leather;  but  the  hair 
on  that  dilapidated  trunk  was  its  own  ; 
and  Zoe  preferred  him  much  to  the 
lusty  old  English  beau  beside  him, 
with  ivory  teeth  and  ebon  locks  tliat 
cost  a  pretty  penny. 

There  was  a  fat,  livid  Neapolitan 
betting  heavily ;  there  was  a  Creole 
lady,  with  a  fine  oval  face,  rather  sal- 
low, and  eyes  and  hair  as  black  as 
Zoe's  own.  Indeed,  the  creole  excell- 
ed her,  by  the  addition  of  a  little  black 
fringe  upon  her  upper  lip  that,  prej- 
udice apart,  became  her  very  well. 
Her  front  hair  was  confined  by  two 
gold  threads  a  little  way  apart,  on 
whicli  were  fixed  a  singular  ornament, 
the  vivid  eyes  of  a  peacock's  tail  set 
close  together  all  round.  It  was  glo- 
rious, regal.  The  hussy  should  have 
been  the  Queen  of  Slieba,  receiving 
Solomon,  and  showing  her  peacock's 
eyes  against  his  crown-jewels.  Like 
the  lilies  of  the  field,  these  products 
of  nature  are  bad  to  beat,  as  we  say  on 
Yorkshire  turf. 

Indeed  that  frontlet  was  so  beautiful 
and  well  jilaced,  it  drew  forth  glances 
of  marked  disdain  from  every  lady 
within  sight  of  it,  Zoe  excepted.  She 
was  placable.  This  was  a  lesson  in 
color;  and  she  managed  to  forgive 
the  teacher,  in  consideration  of  the  les- 
son. 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


69 


Amidst  the  gaudier  birds,  there  was 
a  dove — a  young  hidy,  Avell  dressed, 
with  Quaker -liive  simplicity,  in  gray 
silk  dress  with  no  trimmings,  a  wliite 
silk  bonnet  and  veil.  Her  face  was 
full  of  virtues.  Meeting  her  elsewhere, 
you  would  say  "That  is  a  good  wife, 
a  good  daughter,  and  the  making  of  a 
good  mother."  Her  expression  at  the 
table  was  thoughtful,  and  a  little  anx- 
ious ;  but  every  now  and  then  she 
turned  her  head  to  look  for  her  hus- 
band, and  gave  him  so  sweet  a  smile 
of  conjugal  sympathy  and  affection  as 
made  Zoe  almost  pray  they  might  win. 
Tlie  husband  was  an  officer,  a  veteran, 
with  grizzled  hair  and  mustache,  a  col- 
onel who  had  commanded  a  brigade  in 
action,  but  could  only  love  and  spoil 
his  wife.  He  ought  to  iiave  been  her 
father,  her  friend,  her  commander,  and 
marched  her  out  of  that  "curse-all" 
to  tiie  top  of  Cader  Idris,  if  need  was. 
Instead  of  that,  he  stood  behind  her 
chair  like  her  lackey  all  day :  for  this 
dove  was  as  desperate  a  gambler  as 
any  in  Europe.  It  was  not  that  she 
bet  very  heavily,  but  that  she  bet  ev- 
ery day  and  all  day.  8lie  began  in 
the  aftemoon,  and  played  till  midnight 
if  there  was  a  table  going.  She  knew 
no  day  of  religion  —  no  day  of  rest. 
She  won,  and  she  lost :  her  own  fort- 
une and  her  husband's  stood  the  mon- 
ey drain  ;  but  how  about  the  golden 
hours  ?  Siie  was  losing  her  youtli  and 
wasting  her  soul.  Yet  the  adminis- 
tration gave  her  a  warning;  they  did 
not  allow  the  irretrievable  hours  to  be 
stolen  from  her  with  a  noiseless  hand. 
At  All  Souls'  College,  Oxford,  in  tiie 
first  quadrangle,  gr.ave,  thoughtful  men 
raised  to  the  top  story,  two  hundred 
years  ago,  a  grand  sun-dial, the  largest, 
perhaps,  and  noI)lest  in  the  kingdom. 
Tiiey  set  it  on  the  face  of  tlie  C2uad, 
and  wrote  over  tiie  long  pointers,  in 
large  letters  of  gold,  these  words, 
"Pereunt  et  imputantur,"  which  re- 
fer to  the  hours  indicated  I)elow,  and 
mean  literally,  "  They  perish,  and  go 
down  to  our  account;"  but  really  im- 
ply a  little  more,  viz.,  that  "  they  are 


wasted,  and  go  to  our  debit."  These 
are  true  words  and  big  words — bigger 
than  any  royal  commissioner  has  ut- 
tered up  to  date — and  reach  the  mind 
through  the  senses,  and  have  warned 
the  scholars  of  many  a  generation  not 
to  throw  away  the  seed-time  of  their 
youtii,  which  never  can  come  twice  to 
any  man.  Well,  the  administration 
of  the  Kursaal  conveyed  to  tiiat  lost 
English  dove  and  others  a  note  of 
warning  which  struck  the  senses,  as 
does  the  immortal  warning  emblazon- 
ed on  tiie  fair  brow  of  that  beautiful 
college ;  only,  in  the  Kursaal  the  warn- 
ing struck  the  ear,  not  the  eye.  They 
provided  French  clocks  with  a  singu- 
larly clear  metallic  striking  tick;  their 
blows  upon  the  life  of  Time  rang  sharp 
above  the  chant,  the  mumble,  and  tiie 
jingle.  Tliese  clocks  seemed  to  cry 
aloud,  and  say  of  the  hours,  whose 
waste  they  recorded,  "  Pere-unt-et- 
impu-tantHr,pere-unt-et-impu-tantur." 
lieckless  of  this  protest,  the  Maves 
of  play  rolled  on,  and  ere  long  sucked 
all  our  characters  but  Vizard  into  the 
voi'tex.  Zoe  hazarded  a  sovereign  on 
red,  and  won ;  then  two  on  black,  and 
won ;  then  four  on  red,  and  won. 
She  was  launched,  and  Fanny  too. 
They  got  excited,  and  bet  higher ;  the 
croupiers  pelted  them  with  golden 
coins,  and  they  began  to  pant  and 
flush,  and  their  eyes  to  gleam.  The 
old  gamblers'  eyes  seem  to  have  lost 
this  i)Ower — they  have  grown  fishy ; 
but  the  eyes  of  these  female  novices 
were  a  sight.  Fanny's,  being  light- 
gray,  gleamed  like  a  ])anther's  whose 
prey  is  within  leap.  Zoe's  dark  orbs 
could  not  resemble  any  wild  beast's ; 
but  they  glowed  with  unholy  fire ;  and, 
indeed,  all  down  the  table  was  now 
seen  that  wliich  no  })ainter  can  convey 
— for  his  beautiful  but  contracted  art 
confines  him  to  a  moment  of  time — 
and  writers  have  strangely  neglected 
to  notice,  viz.,  the  proc/ress  of  the  coun- 
tenance under  play.  Many  of  the 
masks  melted,  as  if  they  had  been  of 
wax,  and  the  natural  expressions 
forced  their  way  ;  some  got  flushed 


70 


A  WOMAN-HATEli. 


witli  triumph,  others  wild  and  haggard 
with  tlicir  losses.  One  ghastly,  glar- 
ing loser  sat  quite  (jiiiet,  when  his  all 
was  gone,  but  clenciied  his  hands  so 
that  tiie  nails  ran  into  the  flesh,  and 
blood  trickled :  discovering  which,  a 
friend  dragged  him  off  like  something 
dead.     Nobody  minded. 

The  fat  old  beau  got  worried  by  his 
teeth,  and  ))ulled  them  out  in  a  jiet 
and  pocketed  them. 

IMiss  Maitland,  wiio  had  begun  with 
her  gray  hair  in  neat  little  curls,  de- 
ranged one  so  with  convulsive  hand, 
that  it  came  all  down  her  cheek,  and 
looked,  most  rakish  and  unbecoming. 
E\"en  Zoe  and  Fanny  had  turned  from 
lambs  to  leopardesses  —  patches  of 
red  on  each  cheek,  and  eyes  like  red- 
liot  coals. 

Tlie  colors  had  begun  to  run,  and 
at  fust  the  players  lost  largely  to  the 
bank,  with  one  excejition. 

Ina  Klosking  discerned  the  change, 
and  backed  the  winning  color,  then 
doubled  on  it  twice.  ISlie  did  this  so 
luckily  three  or  four  times  that,  though 
her  single  stake  was  at  first  only  forty 
])ounds,  gold  seemed  to  grow  around 
her,  and  even  notes  to  rise  and  make 
a  cushion.  She,  too,  was  excited, 
though  not  openly  ;  her  gloves  were 
off,  and  her  own  lovely  hand,  the 
whitest  in  the  room,  ])Iaced  the  stakes. 
You  might  see  a  red  s])ot  on  her  cheek- 
bone, and  a  strange  glint  in  her  deep 
eye;  but  she  could  not  do  any  tiling 
that  was  not  seemly. 

She  played  calmly,  boldly,  on  the 
system  that  had  cleared  out  Ned  Sev- 
erne,  and  she  won  heavily,  because 
she  was  in  luck.  It  was  her  hour  and 
her  vein. 

By  this  time  Zoe  and  Fanny  were 
cleaned  out ;  and  looked  in  amaze- 
ment at  the  Klosking,  and  wondered 
how  she  did  it. 

Miss  Maitland,  at  her  last  sovereign, 
began  to  lean  on  the  victorious  Klos- 
king, and  bet  as  she  did  :  her  i)ile  in- 
creased. The  dove  caught  sight  of 
her  game,  and  backed  her  luck.  The 
Creole  backed  her  heavily. 


Presently  there  was  an  extraordi- 
nary run  on  black.  Numbers  were 
caught.  The  Klosking  won  three 
times,  and  lost  liiree  titnes  ;  but  the 
bets  she  won  were  double  bets,  and 
those  she  lost  were  single. 

Then  came  a  refait,  and  the  bank 
sweptotf  half  her  stake;  but  even  here 
she  was  lucky.  She  had  only  forty 
pounds  on. 

liy-and-by  came  the  event  of  the 
night.  Black  had  for  some  tinie  ap- 
peared to  rule  the  roast,  and  thrust 
red  off  the  table,  and  tlie  Klosking 
lost  two  hundred  pounds. 

The  Klosking  put  two  hundred 
pounds  on  red :  it  won.  She  doubled  : 
red  won.  She  doubled  :  there  was  a 
dead  silence.  The  Creole  lady  put 
the  maximum  on  red,  three  hundred 
poiiiuls :  red  won.  Ina  Klosking 
looked  a  little  pale;  but,  driven  by 
some  unaccountable  impulse,  she  dou- 
bled. So  did  the  Creole.  Ked  won. 
The  automata  ciiucked  sixteen  hun- 
dred ]joimds  to  the  Klosking,  and  six 
hundred  ]>ounds  to  the  other  lad}'. 
Ina  bet  forty  pounds  on  black,  lied 
won  again.  She  put  two  hundred 
pounds  on  black  :  black  won.  She 
doubled  :  black  won  again.  She  dou- 
bled :  black  won.  Doubled  again : 
black  won. 

The  Creole  and  otiiers  stood  with 
her  in  that  last  run,  and  the  money 
was  chucked.  But  the  settlement  was 
followed  by  a  short  whisper,  and  a 
croujjier,  in  a  voice  as  mechanical  as 
ever,  chanted  that  the  sum  set  apart 
for  that  table  was  exhausted  for  that 
day. 

The  Klosking  and  her  backers  had 
broken  the  bank. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

TuF.Ric  was  a  buzzing,  and  a  throng- 
ing round  the  victorious  player. 

Ina  rose,  and.  with  a  delicate  move- 
ment of  her  milk-white  hand,  turn- 
ed the  mountain  of  gold  and  column 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


71 


of  notes  toward  Aslimead.  "Make 
haste,  please,"  she  whispered;  then 
put  oa  her  gloves  deliberately,  while 
Ashmead  shoved  the  gold  and  the 
notes  anyhow  into  the  inner  pockets 
of  his  shooting-jacket,  and  buttoned  it 
well  np. 

"J./Yons,"  said  she,  calmly,  and  took 
his  arm  ;  but,  as  she  moved  away,  she 
saw  Zoe  Vizard  passing  on  the  other 
side  of  the  table.  Tlieir  eyes  met : 
she  dropped  Ashmead's  arm,  and  made 
her  a  sweeping  courtesy  full  of  polite 
consideration,  and  a  sort  of  courteous 
respect  for  the  person  saluted,  coupled 
with  a  certain  dignity,  and  tiien  she 
looked  wistfully  at  her  a  moment.  I 
believe  she  would  have  spoken  to  her 
if  she  had  been  alone ;  but  Miss  Mait- 
land  and  Fanny  Dover  had,  both  of 
them,  a  trick  of  putting  on  noli-vie- 
tnngere  faces  among  strangers.  It 
did  not  mean  mucii ;  it  is  an  unfortu- 
nate Knglisii  iiabit.  But  it  repels  for- 
eigners :  they  neither  do  it  nor  under- 
stand it. 

Those  two  faces,  not  downright  for- 
bidding, but  uninviting,  turned  the 
scale ;  and  the  Klosking,  who  was  not 
a  forward  woman,  did  not  yield  to  her 
inclination  and  speak  to  Zoe.  She 
took  Ashmead's  arm  again  and  moved 
away. 

Then  Zoe  turned  back  and  beckoned 
Vizard.  He  joined  her.  "There  she 
is," said  Zoe;  "shall  I  speak  to  her?" 

Would  you  believe  it  ?  He  thought 
a  moment,  and  then  said,  gloomily, 
"Well,  no.  Half  cured  now.  Seen 
the  lover  in  time."  So  that  opportu- 
nity was  frittered  away. 

Before  tiie  English  party  left  the 
Kursaal,  Zoe  asked,  timidly,  if  they 
onglit  not  to  make  some  incpiiry  al)out 
Air.  Severne.  He  had  been  taken  ill 
again. 

"Ay,  taken  ill,  and  gone  to  be 
cured  at  another  table,"  said  Vizard, 
ironically.  "I'll  make  the  tour,  and 
collar  him." 

He  went  oft"  in  a  hurry  ;  Miss  Mait- 
land  faced  a  glass,  and  in-oceeded  to 
arrange  her  curl. 


Fanny,  though  she  had  offered  no 
opposition  to  Vizard's  goiug,  now 
seized  Zoe's  arm  witii  unusual  energy, 
and  almost  dragged  her  aside.  "  The 
idea  of  sending  Harrington  on  that 
fool's  errand!"  said  she,  peevishly. 
"  Why,  Zoe !  where  are  your  eyes  ?" 

Zoe  showed  her  by  opening  them 
wide.      "  What  do  you  mean  ?" 

"What — do — I — mean?  No  mat- 
ter. IMr.  Severne  is  not  in  this  build- 
ing, and  you  know  it." 

''  How  can  I  know  ?  All  is  so 
mysterious,"  faltered  Zoe.  "  How  do 
you  know  ?" 

"Because  —  there  —  least  said  is 
soonest  mended." 

"Fanny,  you  are  older  than  me, 
and  ever  so  much  cleverer.  Tell  me, 
or  you  are  not  my  friend." 

"Wait  till  you  get  home,  then. 
Here  he  is." 

Vizard  told  them  he  had  been 
through  all  the  rooms ;  the  only  chance 
now  was  the  dining-room.  "No," 
said  Fanny,  "we  wish  to  get  home; 
we  are  rather  tired." 

They  went  to  the  rail,  and  at  first 
Vizard  was  rather  talkative,  making 
his  comments  on  the  j)layers ;  but  the 
ladies  were  taciturn,  and  brought  him 
to  a  stand.  "Ah,"  thought  he, 
"  notliing  interests  them  now  ;  Adonis 
is  not  here."  So  he  retired  within 
himself. 

When  they  reached  the  Russie,  he 
ordered  a  petit  souper  in  an  hoin-, 
and  invited  the  ladies.  Meantime 
they  retired  —  Miss  Maitland  to  her 
room,  and  Fanny,  with  Zoe,  to  hers. 
By  tliis  time  Miss  Dover  had  lost  her 
alacrity,  and  would,  I  verily  believe, 
have  shunned  a  tete-a-tete  if  she  could ; 
but  there  was  a  slight  paleness  in  Zoe's 
clieck,  and  a  compression  of  the  lips, 
which  told  her  jilainly  that  young  ladv 
meant  to  have  it  out  with  her.  They 
botii  knew  so  well  what  was  coming, 
that  Zoe  merely  waved  her  to  a  chair 
and  leaned  herself  against  the  bed,  and 
said,  "Now,  Fanny."  So  Fanny  was 
brought  to  bay. 


72 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


"Dear  me," said  slie,  jiiteously,  "I 
don't  know  what  to  do,  l)et\veen  yon 
and  Aunt  Muitland.  If  I  say  all  I 
think,  I  suppose  you  will  hate  ine; 
and  if  I  don't,  I  shall  be  told  I'm 
wicked,  and  don't  warn  an  orphan 
girl.  iShe  flew  at  me  like  a  bull-dog 
before  your  brother:  she  said  I  was 
twenty-five,  and  I  only  own  to  twen- 
ty-three. And,  after  all,  what  could  I 
say  ?  for  I  do  feel  I  ought  to  give  you 
tiie  benefit  of  my  experience,  and 
make  myself  as  disagreeable  as  she 
does.  And  I  have  given  you  a  hint, 
and  a  pretty  broad  one,  but  you  want 
such  plain  speaking." 

"1  do,"  said  Zoe.  "So  please 
speak  plainly,  if  you  can." 

"All,  you  say  that." 

"  And  I  mean  it.  Never  mind  con- 
sequences ;  tell  me  the  truth." 

"Like  a  man,  eh ?  and  get  hated." 

"Men  are  well  worth  imitating,  in 
some  things.  Tell  me  the  truth, 
pleasant  or  not,  and  I  shall  always 
respect  you." 

"Bother  respect.  I  am  like  the  rest 
of  us  ;  I  want  to  be  loved  a  little  bit. 
But  there — I'm  in  for  it.  I  have  said 
too  much,  or  too  little.  I  know  that. 
Well,  Zoe,  the  long  and  the  short  is — 
you  have  a  rival." 

Zoe  turned  rather  pale,  but  was  not 
so  much  shaken  as  Fanny  expected. 

She  received  the  blow  in  silence. 
But  after  a  while  she  said,  with  some 
firmness,  "Mademoiselle  Klosking?'' 

"Oh,  you  are  not  quite  blind,  then." 

"And  pray  which  does  he  prefer?" 
asked  Zoe,  a  little  proudly. 

"It  is  plain  he  likes  you  the  best. 
But  why  does  he  fear  her  so?  This 
is  where  you  seem  all  in  the  dark. 
He  flew  out  of  the  opera,  lest  she  should 
see  him." 

"Oh!     Absurd!" 

"lie  cut  you  and  Vizard,  rather 
than  call  upon  her  with  you." 

"And  so  he  did." 

"  He  flew  from  the  gambling-table 
the  moment  she  entered  the  room." 

"  Behind  him.  She  came  in  behind 
him." 


"  There  was  a  large  mirror  in  front 
of  him." 

"Oh,  Fanny!  oh!"  and  Zoe  clasp- 
ed her  hands  piteously.  But  she  re- 
covered herself,  and  said,  "After  all, 
appearances  are  deceitfid." 

"Not  so  <lcccitful  as  men,"  said 
Fanny,  sharply. 

But  Zoe  clung  to  her  straw. 
"Might  not  two  things  happen  to- 
gether? He  is  subject  to  bleeding  at 
the  nose.  It  is  strange  it  should  oc- 
cur twice  so,  but  it  is  possible." 

"Zoe," said  Fanny,  gravely,  "  he  is 
not  subject  to  bleeding  at  the  nose." 

"Oil,  then — but  how  can  you  know 
that?  What  right  have  }'0U  to  say 
that?" 

"  I'll  show  you,"  said  Fatmy,  and 
left  the  room. 

She  soon  came  back,  holding  some- 
thing behind  her  back.  Even  at  the 
last  moment  she  was  half  unwilling. 
However,  she  looked  down,  and  said, 
in  a  very  peculiar  tone,  "Here  is  the 
handkerchief  he  put  before  his  face 
at  the  Opera;  there!"  and  she  threw 
it  into  Zoe's  la]). 

Zoe's  nature  revolted  against  evi- 
dence so  obtained.  She  did  not  even 
take  up  the  handkerchief.  "  What !" 
she  cried;  "you  took  it  out  of  his 
pocket  ?" 

"No." 

"Then  you  have  been  in  his  room 
and  got  it." 

''''Nothing  of  the  kind!  I  sent 
Rosa." 

"My  maid!" 

"Mine,  for  that  job.  I  gave  her  half 
a  crown  to  borrow  it  for  a  pattern." 

Zoe  seized  the  handkerchief,  and 
ran  her  eye  over  it  in  a  moment. 
Tiiere  was  no  trace  of  blood  on  it,  and 
there  were  his  initals,  "E.  S."'in  the 
corner.  Her  woman's  eye  fastened 
instantly  on  these.  "  Silk  ?"  said  she, 
and  held  it  np  to  the  light.  "No. 
Hair! — golden  hair.  It  is  hers!" 
And  she  Hung  the  handkerchief  from 
her  as  if  it  were  a  viper,  and  even  when 
on  the  ground  eyed  it  with  dilating 
orbs  and  a  hostile  horror. 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


73 


"La !"  said  Fanny  ;  "  fancy  that ! 
You  are  not  blind  now.  You  have 
seen  more  than  I.  I  made  sure  it  was 
yellow  silk." 

But  this  frivolous  speech  never  even 
entered  Zoe's  ear.  She  was  too  deep- 
ly sliocked.  She  went,  feebly,  and 
sat  down  in  a  chair,  and  covered  her 
face  with  her  hands. 

Fanny  eyed  her  with  pity.  "  There ! " 
said  she,  almost  crying,  "  I  never  tell 
the  truth  but  I  bitterly  repent  it." 

Zoe  took  no  notice  of  this  droll  ap- 
othegm. Her  hands  began  to  work. 
"What  shall  1  do !"  she  said.  "  What 
shall  I  do!" 

"Oh,  don't  go  on  like  that,  Zoe!" 
cried  Fanny.  "After  all,  it  is  you 
he  prefers.     He  ran  away  from  her." 

"Ah,  yes.  But  why?  —  why? 
Wiiat  has  he  done?" 

"Jilted  her,  I  suppose.  Aunt  Mait- 
land  thinks  he  is  after  money ;  and, 
you  know,  you  have  got  mone\'." 

"Have  I  nothing  else?"' said  the 
proud  beauty,  and  lifted  her  bowed 
head  for  a  moment. 

"  You  have  every  thing.  But  you 
should  look  things  in  the  face.  Is 
that  singer  an  unattractive  woman  ?  ' 

"Oh  no.  But  she  is  not  poor. 
Her  kind  of  talent  is  paid  enormous- 

ly-" 

"  That  is  true,  said  Fanny.  "  But 
perha])s  she  wastes  it.  Siie  is  a  gam- 
bler, like  himself." 

"  Let  him  go  to  her,"  said  Zoe, 
wildly  ;  "  I  will  sliare  no  man's  heart." 

"  He  will  never  go  to  her,  unless — 
well,  unless  we  tell  him  that  she  has 
broken  the  bank  with  his  money." 

"  If  you  think  so  badly  of  him,  tell 
him,  then,  and  let  him  go.  Oh,  I  nm 
wretched — I  am  wretched  I "  She  lift- 
ed her  hands  in  despair,  and  began  to 
cry  and  sob  bitterly. 

Fanny  was  melted  at  her  distress, 
and  knelt  to  her,  and  cried  wiiii  her. 

Not  being  a  girl  of  steaily  princi- 
ple, she  went  round  with  the  wind. 
"Dear  Zoe,"  said  she,  "it  is  deeper 
than  I  thought.  La !  if  you  love  him, 
why  torment  your.self  ?" 


"No," said  Zoe;  "it  is  deceit  and 
mysterv  that  torment  me.  Oh,  what 
shall  I  do!   what  shall  I  do!" 

Fanny  interpreted  this  vague  excla- 
mation of  sorrow  as  asking  advice, 
and  said,  "I  dare  not  advise  you;  I 
can  only  tell  you  what  I  should  do  in 
your  place.  I  should  make  np  my 
mind  at  once  whether  I  loved  the 
man,  or  only  liked  him.  If  I  only 
liked  him,  I  would  turn  him  up  at 
once." 

"Turn  him  up !     What  is  that ?" 

"Turn  him  off,  then.  If  I  loved 
him,  I  would  not  let  any  other  woman 
have  the  least  little  bit  of  a  chance  to 
get  him.  For  instance,  I  would  not 
let  him  know  this  old  sweetheart  of 
his  has  won  three  thousand  pounds  at 
least,  for  I  noted  her  winnings.  Dia- 
mond cut  diamond,  my  dear.  He  is 
concealing  from  you  something  or 
other  about  him  and  this  Klosking; 
hide  you  this  one  little  thing  about  the 
Klosking  from  him,  till  you  get  my 
gentleman  safe  to  England." 

"And  this  is  love!  I  call  it  war- 
fare." 

"And  love  is  warfare,  three  times 
out  of  four.  Anyway,  it  is  for  you 
to  decide,  Zoe.  I  do  wish  you  had 
never  seen  the  man.  He  is  not  what 
he  seems.  He  is  a  poor  adventurer, 
and  a  bundle  of  deceit." 

"  You  are  very  hard  on  him.  You 
don't  know  all." 

"No,  nor  a  ([uartcr;  and  you  know 
less.  There,  dear,  dry  your  eyes  and 
fight  against  it.  After  all,  you  know 
you  are  mistress  of  the  situation.  I'll 
settle  it  for  you,  which  way  you  like." 

"You  will?  Oh,  Fanny,  you  are 
very  good ! " 

"Say  indulgent,  please.  I'm  not 
good,  and  never  will  be,  if  /  can  pos- 
silily  help.  I  despise  good  people; 
they  are  as  weak  as  water.  But  I  do 
like  you,  Zoe  Vizard,  better  than  any 
other  woman  in  tiie  world.  That  is 
not  saying  very  much  ;  my  taste  is  for 
men.  I  think  them  gods  and  devils 
compared  with  us;  and  I  do  admire 
gods  and  ticvils.      No  matter,  dear. 


74 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


Kiss   me,  and    say,  '  Fanny,  act   for 
me,'  and  111  do  it." 

Zoe  kissed  her,  and  then,  by  a  truly 
virginal  impulse,  hid  her  burning  face 
in  her  hands,  and  said  nothing  at  all. 

Fannv  gave  her  plenty  of  time,  and 
then  said,  kindly,  '"Weil,  dear?' 

Then  Zoe  murmured,  scarce  audi- 
bly, "Act — as  if — I  loved  him.'' 

And  still  she  kept  her  face  covered 
^vith  her  hands. 

Fanny  was  any  thing  but  surprised  at 
this  conclusion  of  the  struggle.  IShe 
said,  with  a  certain  alacrity,  "Very 
well,  I  will :  so  now  bathe  your  eyes 
and  come  in  to  supper." 

"No,  no;  please  go  and  make  an 
excuse  for  me." 

"  I  sliall  do  nothing  of  the  kind. 
I  won't  be  told  by-and-by  I  have  done 
wrong.  I  will  do  your  business,  but 
it  shall  be  in  your  hearing.  Then  you 
can  interfere,  if  you  choose.  Only 
you  had  better  not  put  your  word  in 
till  you  see  what  I  am  driving  at." 

Witli  a  little  more  encouragement, 
Zoe  was  prevailed  on  to  sponge  her 
tearful  eyes  and  compose  herself,  and 
join  Harrington  at  supper. 

Miss  ISIaitland  soon  retired,  plead- 
ing fatigue  and  packing ;  and  she  had 
not  been  gone  long,  wlien  Fanny  gave 
her  friend  a  glance  and  began  upon 
Harrington. 

"You  are  very  fond  of  Mr.  Sev- 
erne,  are  you  not  ?"  said  she. 

"I  am,"  said  Vizard,  stoutly,  pre- 
paring for  battle.  "You  are  not,  per- 
haps." 

Fanny  laughed  at  this  prompt  pug- 
nacity. "Oh  yes,  I  am,"  said  she; 
"devoted.  But  he  iias  a  weakness, 
you  must  own.  He  is  rather  fond  of 
gambling." 

"He  is,  I  am  sorry  to  say.  It  is 
his  one  fault.  Most  of  us  have  two 
or  three." 

"Don't  you  think  it  would  be  a 
])ity  if  he  were  to  refuse  to  go  with  us 
to-morrow  —  were  to  prefer  to  stay 
here  and  gamble  ?" 

"  No  fear  of  that :  he  has  given  me 
his  word  of  honor.'' 


"Still,  I  think  it  would  be  hardly 
safe  to  tempt  him.  If  you  go  and 
tell  him  that  friend  of  his  won  siicii 
a  lot  of  money,  he  will  want  to  stop ; 
and  if  he  does  not  stop,  he  will  go 
away  miserable.  You  know  they  be- 
gan betting  with  his  money,  though 
they  went  on  with  their  own." 

"Oh,  (lid  they  ?  What  was  his  own 
money?" 

"  How  much  was  it,  Zoe?" 

"Fifty  pounds." 

"Weil,"  said  Vizard,  "you  must 
admit  it  is  hard  he  should  lose  his 
own  mone\-.  And  yet  I  own  I  am 
most  anxious  to  get  him  away  from 
this  j)lace.  Indeed,  I  have  a  project ; 
I  want  him  to  rusticate  a  few  months 
at  our  j)lace,  while  I  set  my  lawyer  to 
look  into  his  alfairs  and  see  if  his  es- 
tate can  not  be  cleared.  I'll  l)e  boimd 
tlie  farms  are  underlet.  What  does 
the  Admirable  Crichton  know  about 
such  trifles?" 

Fanny  looked  at  Zoe,  whose  color 
was  rising  high  at  all  tins.  "  Well !" 
said  she,  "  when  you  gentlemen  fall  in 
love  wit/i  each  other,  you  certainly  are 
faithfid  creatin-es." 

"Because  we  can  count  on  fidelity 
in  return,"  said  Vizard.  He  tliought 
a  little,  and  said,  "Well,  as  to  the 
otiier  thing — you  leave  it  to  me.  Let 
us  understand  one  another.  Nothing 
we  saw  at  the  gambling-table  is  to  be 
mentioned  by  us?" 

"No." 

"  Crichton  is  to  be  taken  to  En- 
gland for  his  good." 

"Yes." 

"And  I  am  to  be  grateful  to  you 
for  your  co-operation  in  this." 

"  You  can,  if  you  like." 

"  Antl  you  will  secure  an  agreeable 
companion  for  the  rest  of  the  tour, 
eh?  —  my  diplomatic  cousin  and  my 
silent  sister." 

"  Yes  ;  but  it  is  too  bad  of  you  to 
see  through  a  poor  girl,  and  her  little 
game,  like  that.  I  own  he  is  a  charm- 
ing C()mi)anion." 

Fanny's  cunning  eyes  twinkled,  and 
Zoe  blushed  crimson  to  see  her  noble 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


75 


brotlier  manipulated  by  this  artfui 
minx,  and  then  flattered  for  his  ]>er- 
spicacity. 

From  that  moment  a  revulsion  took 
place  in  lier  mind,  and  pride  fonglit 
furiously  with  love — for  a  time. 

This  was  soon  made  apparent  to 
Fanny  Dover.  When  they  retired, 
Zoe  looked  very  gloomy  ;  so  Fanny 
asked,  rather  sharply,  "  Well,  what  is 
the  matter  now?  Didn't  I  do  it  clev- 
erly ?" 

"  Yes,  yes,  too  cleverly.  Oh,  Fan- 
ny, I  begin  to  revolt  against  myself." 

"This  is  nice!"  said  Fanny.  "  Go 
on,  dear.  It  is  just  what  I  ouglit 
to  have  expected.  You  were  there. 
You  had  only  to  interfere.  You 
didn't.  And  now  you  are  discontent- 
ed." 

"Not  with  you.  Spare  me.  You 
are  not  to  blame,  and  I  am  very  un- 
liappy.  I  am  losing  my  self-respect. 
Oh,  if  this  goes  on,  I  shall  hate  him!" 

"Yes,  dear — for  five  minutes,  and 
then  love  him  double.  Come,  don't 
deceive  yourself,  and  don't  torment 
yourself.  All  your  trouble,  we  shall 
leave  it  behind  us  to-morrow,  and  ev- 
ery hour  will  take  us  farther  from  it." 

Witii  tliis  practical  view  of  matters, 
she  kissed  Zoe  and  hurried  to  bed. 

But  Zoe  scarcely  closed  her  eyes  all 
night. 

Severne  did  not  reach  tlie  hotel  till 
past  eleven  o'clock,  and  went  straight 
to  his  own  room. 


CHAPTER  X. 


AsiiMKAi)  accompanied  Mademoi- 
selle Klosking  to  her  apartment.  It 
was  lighted,  and  the  cloth  laid  for 
supper  under  the  chandelier,  a  snow- 
white  IIaml)urg  damask.  Ashniead 
took  the  winnings  out  of  his  pocket, 
and  proudly  piled  the  gold  and  criim- 
]jled  notes  in  one  prodigious  mass  u])on 
the  linen,  that  shone  like  satin,  and 
made  the  gold  look  dmdilv  inviting. 
Then  he  drew  back  and  gloated  on  it. 


The  Klosking,  too,  stood  and  eyed  the 
pile  of  wealth  with  amazement  and 
a  certain  reverence.  "Let  me  count 
it,"  said  Ashmead.  He  did  so,  and  it 
came  to  four  thousand  nine  hundred 
and  eighty-one  pounds,  ICnglish  mon- 
ey. "And  to  think,"  said  he,  "if  you 
had  taken  my  advice  you  would  not 
have  a  penny  of  this !" 

"I'll  take  your  advice  now%"  said 
she.     "I  will  never  gamble  again." 

"Well,  take  my  advice,  and  lock 
up  the  swag  befoi'e  a  creature  sees  it. 
Homburg  is  full  of  thieves." 

She  complied,  and  took  away  the 
money  in  a  napkin. 

Ashmead  called  after  her  to  know 
might  he  order  supper. 

"If  you  will  be  so  kind." 

Ashmead  rejoiced  at  this  unguarded 
permission,  and  ordered  a  supper  that 
made  Karl  stare. 

Tiie  Klosking  returned  in  about 
half  an  hoiu',  clad  in  a  cvisp  })eignoir. 

Ashmead  confronted  her.  "  I  have 
ordered  a  bottle  of  Champagne,"  said 
he.  Her  answer  surprised  him. 
"You  have  done  well.  W"e  must  now 
begin  to  prove  the  truth  of  the  old 
proverb,  '  Ce  qui  vient  de  la  flute  s'en 
va  au  tambour.' " 

At  sup])er  Mr.  Ashmead  was  the 
chief  drinker,  and,  by  a  natural  con- 
sequence, the  chief  speaker :  he  held 
out  brilliant  prospects  ;  he  favored  the 
Klosking  with  a  discourse  on  adver- 
tising. No  talent  availed  without 
it ;  large  posters,  })ictures,  window- 
cards,  etc.  ;  but  as  her  talent  was  su- 
perlative, he  must  now  endeavor  to 
keep  up  with  it  by  invention  in  his 
line — the  putf  circumstantial,  the  ])u(f 
poetic,  the  jjuft' anecdotal,  the  pufl" con- 
troversial, all  tending  to  blow  the  fame 
of  the  Klosking  in  every  eye,  and  ring 
it  in  every  ear.  "You  take  my  ad- 
vice," said  he,  "and  devote  this  mon- 
ey, every  jjenny  of  it,  to  Publicity. 
Don't  you  touch  a  single  shiner  fu* 
any  thing  that  does  not  return  a  hun- 
dred per  cent.  Publicity  does,  when 
the  article  is  prime." 

"You  forget,"  said  she,  "  this  mon- 


76 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


ey  does  not  all  belong  to  mc.  Anoth- 
er can  claim  half;  the  gentleman  with 
whom  we  are  in  partnership." 

Ashmead  looked  literally  bine. 
"  Nonsense !"  said  he,  rouglily.  "  He 
can  only  claim  his  fifty  ])ounds." 

"  NaV,  my  fiicud.  I  took  two  equal 
sums  :  one  was  his,  one  mine." 

"Tliat  has  nothing  to  do  with  it. 
He  told  me  to  bet  for  him.  I  didn't ; 
and  I  shall  take  him  back  his  fifty 
pounds  and  say  so.  I  know  where  to 
find  him." 
"Where?" 

"  That  is  my  business.  Don't  you 
go  mad  now,  and  break  my  heart." 

"Well,  my  friend,  we  will  talk  of 
it  to-morrow  morning.  It  certainly 
is  not  very  clear ;  and  perhaps,  after  I 
have  prayed  and  slept,  I  may  see  more 
plainly  what  is  riglit." 

Ashmead  observed  she  was  pale, 
and  asked  her,  with  concern,  if  she 
was  ill. 

"No,  not  ill,"  said  slie,  "  but  worn 
out.  IMy  friend,  I  knew  not  at  the 
time  how  great  was  my  excitement ; 
but  now  I  am  conscious  that  this 
afternoon  I  have  lived  a  week.  My 
very  knees  give  way  under  me." 

Upon  this  admission,  Ashmead  hur- 
ried lier  to  bed. 

Siie  slept  soundly  for  some  hours ; 
but,  having  once  awakened,  she  fell 
into  a  half- sleepless  state,  and  was 
full  of  dreams  and  fancies.  These 
preyed  on  her  so,  that  she  rose  and 
dispatched  a  servant  to  Aslimead, 
with  a  Hne  in  jiencil  begging  him  to 
take  an  early  breakfast  with  her,  at 
nine  o'clock. 

As  soon  as  ever  he  came,  she  began 
upon  the  topic  of  last  night.  She  had 
tliought  it  over,  and  said,  frankly,  slie 
was  not  without  hopes  the  gentleman, 
if  he  was  really  a  gentleman,  might  be 
contented  with  something  less  than 
half.  But  she  really  did  not  see  how 
she  could  refuse  him  some  share  of 
her  winnings,  should  lie  demand  it. 
"  Tiiink  of  it,"  said  she.  "  The  poor 
man  loses — four  hundred  jtounds,  I 
think  you  said.     Tiien  he  says,  'Bet 


you  for  mc,'  and  goes  away,  trusting 
to  your  honor.  His  luck  changes  in 
my  hands.  Is  he  to  lose  all  when  he 
loses,  and  win  nothing  when  he  wins, 
merely  because  I  am  so  fortunate  as 
to  win  much?  However,  we  shall 
hear  what  he  says.  You  gave  him 
your  address." 

"I  said  I  was  at  The  Golden 
Star,"  growled  Ashmead,  in  a  tone 
that  plainly  sliowcd  he  was  vexed 
witli  himself  for  being  so  communi- 
cative. 

"  Then  he  will  pay  iis  a  visit  as  soon 
as  he  hears  :  so  1  need  give  myself  no 
further  trouble." 

"Wliy  should  you?  Wait  till  he 
comes,"  said  crafty  Ashmead. 

Ina  Klosking  colored.  She  felt  her 
friend  was  tempting  her,  and  felt  she 
was  not  quite  beyond  the  power  of 
temptation. 

"  What  was  he  like?"  said  she,  to 
turn  the  conversation. 

"The  handsomest  yoimg  fellow  I 
ever  saw." 

"Young,  of  course?" 
"Yes,  quite  a  boy.     At  least,  ho 
looked  a  boy.     To  be  sure,  his  talk 
was  not  like  a  boy's ;  very  precocious, 
I  should  say." 

"What  a  pity,  to  begin  gambling 
so  young!" 

"Oh,  he  is  all  right.  If  he  loses 
every  farthing  of  his  own,  he  will  mar- 
ry money.  Any  woman  would  have 
him.  You  never  saw  such  a  curled 
darling." 

"Dark  or  fair?" 

"  Fair.  Tink-and- white,  like  a  girl ; 
a  hand  like  a  lady." 

"Indeed.     Fine  eyes?" 
"Splendid!" 
"What  color?" 

"I  don't  know.  Lord  bless  you, 
a  man  does  not  examine  another  man's 
eyes,  like  you  ladies.  However,  now 
l"  think  of  it,  there  was  one  curious 
thing  I  should  know  him  by  any- 
where." 

"And  what  was  that?" 
"  Well,  you  see,his  hair  was  brown  ; 
but  just  above  the  forehead  he  liad  got 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


one  lock  that  was  like  your  own— gold 
itself." 

While  he  said  tliis,  the  Klosking's 
fiice  underwent  the  most  rapid  and 
striking  changes,  and  at  last  she  sat 
looking  at  him  wiklly. 

It  was  some  time  before  he  noticed 
her,  and  tiien  he  was  quite  alarmed 
at  her  strange  expression.  "AVhat  is 
the  matter  ?"  said  he,  "Are  you  ill  ?' 
"No,  no,  no.  Only  a  little— aston- 
ished. Such  a  thing  as  that  is  very 
rare." 

"That  it  is.  I  never  saw  a  case 
before." 

"Not  one,  in  all  your  life?"  asked 
she,  eagerly. 

"  Well,  no ;  not  that  I  remember." 
"Excuse  me  a  minute,"  said  Ina 
Klosking,  and  went  hurriedly  from  the 
room. 

Ashmead  thought  her  manner  very 
strange,  but  concluded  she  was  a  little 
unhinged  by  yesterday's  excitement. 
Moreover,  there  faced  him  an  omelet 
of  enormous  size,  and  savory.  He 
thought  this  worthy  to  divide  a  man's 
attention  even  with  the  great  creat- 
ure's tantrums.  He  devoted  himself 
to  it,  and  it  occupied  him  so  agreeably 
that  he  did  not  observe  the  conduct  of 
Mademoiselle  Klosking  on  her  return. 
She  placed  three  photographs  softly  on 
the  table,  not  very  far  from  him,  and 
then  resumed  her  seat ;  but  her  eye 
never  left  him :  and  she  gave  mono- 
syllabic and  almost  impatient  replies 
to  every  thing  he  mumbled  witli  his 
mouth  full  of  omelet. 

When  he  bad  done  his  omelet,  he 
noticed  the  photographs.  Tiiey  were 
all  colored.  He  took  one  up.  It  was 
an  elderly  woman,  sweet,  venerable, 
and  fair-haired.  He  looked  at  Ina, 
and  at  the  photr)grn]ib,  and  said, 
"  This  is  your  mother." 
"It  is." 

"It  is  angelic  —  as  might  be  ex- 
pected." 

He  took  up  another. 
"This  is  your  brother,  I  suppose. 
Stop.      Halloo!— what   is  this?     Are 
my  eyes  making  a  fool  of  me?" 


He  held  out  the  photograph  at 
arms-length,  and  stared  from  it  to  her. 
"  Wliy,  madam,"  said  he,  in  an  awe- 
struck voice,  "this  is  the  gentleman — 
the  player — I'd  swear  to  him." 

Ina  started  from  her  seat  while  he 
spoke.  "Ah  !"  she  cried,"  I  thought 
so  —  my  Edward!"  and  sat  down, 
trembling  violently. 

Ashmead  ran  to  her,  and  sprinkled 
water  in  her  tace,  for  she  seemed  ready 
to  fiiint:  but  she  murmured,  "  No, 
no!"  and  soon  the  color  rushed  into 
her  face,  and  she  clasped  her  hands 
together,  and  cried,  "I  have  found 
him!"  and  soon  the  storm  of  varying 
emotions  ended  in  tears  that  gave  her 
relief. 

It  was  a  long  time  before  she  spoke ; 
but  when  she  did,  her  spirit  and  her 
natural  strength  of  character  took  the 
upper  hand.  "Where  is  he?"  said 
she,  firmly. 

"He  told  me  he  was  at  the  'Ilus- 
sie.'  " 

"  We  will  go  there  at  once.  When 
is  the  next  train  ?" 

Ashmead  looked  at  his  watch. 
"  In  ten  minutes.  We  can  hardly  do 
it." 

"  Yes,  we  can.  Order  a  carriage 
this  instant.  I  will  be  ready  in  one 
minute." 

They  caught  the  train,  and  started. 
As  they  glided  along,  Ashmead  beg- 
ged her  not  to  act  too  hurriedly,  and 
expose  herself  to  insult. 

"Who  will  dare  insult  me?" 
"  Nobody,  I  hope.  Still,  I  can  not 
bear  you  to  go  into  a  strange  hotel 
hunting  this  man.  It  is  monstrous; 
but  I  am  afraid  you  will  not  be  wel- 
come. Something  has  just  occuiTed 
to  me  ;  the  reason  he  ran  off"  so  sud- 
denly was,  he  saw  you  coming.  There 
was  a  mirror  opposite.  Ah,  we  need 
not  have  feared  he  would  come  back 
for  his  winnings.     Idiot — villain !" 

"You  stab  me  to  the  heart,"  said 
Ina.  "  He  ran  away  at  sight  of  me? 
Ah,  Jesu,  jiity  me !  What  have  I 
done  to  him  ?" 

Honest  Ashmead  had  much  ado  not 


78 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


to  !ilnbl)cr  at  this  patient  cry  of  an- 
giiisli,  tiioiigh  the  wuman  herself  shed 
no  tear  just  then.  But  liis  jiulgment 
was  uudimmed  by  passion,  and  he  j^ave 
lier  the  benefit.  "Take  my  adviee," 
said  lie,''  and  work  it  tliis  way.  Come 
ill  a  close  carriaj^e  to  the  side  street 
that  is  nearest  the  liussie.  I'll  ^o  in 
to  tiie  hotel  and  ask  for  him  by  his 
name — what  is  his  name?" 

"Mr.  Edward  Severne." 

"  And  say  that  I  was  afiaid  to  stake 
his  money,  bnt  a  friend  of  mine,  that 
is  a  bold  jdayer,  nndertook  it,  and  had 
a  great  run  of  luck.  'There  is  mon- 
ey owing  you,'  says  I, 'and  my  friend 
has  brought  it.'  Then  he  is  sure  to 
come.  You  will  have  yom-  veil  down, 
I'll  open  tlie  carriage -door,  and  tell 
liiin  to  jimip  in,  and,  when  yon  have 
got  him,  you  must  make  him  iiear  rea- 
son. Ill  give  you  a  good  chance — 
I'll  shut  the  carriage-door." 

Ina  smiled  at  his  ingenuity  —  her 
first  smile  that  day.  "Yon  are  in- 
deed a  friend,"  said  she.  "  He  fears 
rei)roaches,  but,  when  ho  finds  he  is 
welcome,  he  will  stay  with  me ;  and 
he  shall  have  money  to  ])lay  with,  and 
amuse  himself  how  he  likes.  I  kept 
too  tight  a  rein  on  him,  poor  fellow! 
My  good  mother  taught  me  prudence." 

"Yes,  but,"  said  Ashmead,  "you 
must  promise  me  one  thing:  not  to 
let  him  know  how  much  money  you 
have  won,  and  not  to  go,  like  a  goose, 
and  give  him  a  lot  at  once.  It  never 
pays  to  jiart  with  power  in  this  wicked 
world.  You  give  him  t\veiity  pounds 
a  day  to  play  with  whenever  he  is 
cleaned  out.  Then  the  money  will 
last  vour  time,  and  he  will  never  leave 
you." 

"Oh,  how  cold-hearted  and  wise 
you  are  I"  said  she.  "  J5ut  sucii  a  hu- 
miliating position  for  hiin.'" 

"Don't  you  be  silly.  Y'ou  won't 
keep  him  any  other  way." 

"  I  will  be  as  wise  as  I  can,"  siglied 
Ina.  "I  have  had  a  bitter  lesson. 
Only  bring  him  to  me,  and  then,  who 
knows?  I  am  a  cliange:  my  love 
may  revive  his,  and  none  of  these  pit- 


iable   precautions    may    be    needed. 
They  would  lower  us  both." 

Ashmead  groaned  aloud.  "  I  see," 
said  he.  "He'll  soon  clean  you  out. 
Ah,  well !  he  can't  rob  you  of  your 
voice,  and  he  can't  rob  you  of  your 
Aslimcad." 

They  soon  reached  Frankfort. 
Ashmead  ])ut  her  into  a  carriage  as 
agreed,  and  went  to  the  Kussie. 

Ina  sat,  with  her  veil  down,  in  the 
carriage,  and  waited  Ashmead's  re- 
tuin  with  Severne.  He  was  a  long 
time  coming.  !She  began  to  doubt, 
and  then  to  fear,  and  wonder  why  he 
was  so  long. 

At  last  he  came  in  sight. 

He  was  alone. 

As  he  drew  nearer  she  saw  his  face 
was  thoroughlv  downcast. 

"JNIy  dear  friend,"  he  faltered, 
"you  are  out  of  luck  to-day." 

"  He  will  not  come  with  you?" 

"Oh,  he  would  come  fast  enough, 
if  he  was  tliere;  but  he  is  gone." 

"  Gone !     To  Homburg  ?" 

"No.  Unfortunately,  he  is  gone 
to  England.  Went  otf,  by  the  fast 
train,  an  hour  ago." 

Ina  fell  back  in  silence,  just  as  if 
she  bad  l)oen  struck  in  the  face. 

"He  is  traveling  with  an  English 
family,  and  they  have  gone  straight 
home.  Here  are  their  names.  I 
looked  in  the  visitors'  book,  and  talk- 
ed to  the  servant,  and  all.  "  Mr.  'Viz- 
ard, Miss  Vizard — " 

"Vizard?" 

"  Yes— Miss  Maitland,  Miss  Dover. 
See,  I  wrote  them  all  down." 

"Oh,  I  am  unfortunate!  Why 
was  I  ever  born  ?" 

"Don't  say  that,  don't  say  that. 
It  is  annoying :  but  we  shall  be  able 
to  trace  him  now;  and,  besides,  I  see 
other  ways  of  getting  hold  of  him." 

Ina  broke  in  upon  his  talk.  "  Take 
me  to  the  nearest  chiu'ch,"  she  cried. 
"Man's  words  are  vain.  Ah,  Jesu, 
let  me  cry  to  thee  !" 

He  took  her  to  the  nearest  church. 
She  went  in,  and  prayed  for  full  two 
hours.     She  came  out,  pale  and  list- 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


79 


less,  and  Ashmead  got  her  home  how- 
lie  could.  Her  very  body  seemed  all 
crushed  and  limp.  Aslimeadleft  her, 
sad  at  heart  himself. 

So  long  as  slie  was  in  sight  Ash- 
mead cotUd  think  only  of  her  misery  : 
but  the  moment  she  was  out  of  sight, 
he  remembered  the  theatre.  She  was 
announced  for  Rosina  tliat  very  niglit. 
He  saw  trouble  of  all  sorts  before 
him.  He  ran  to  the  theatre,  in  great 
alarm,  and  told  the  manager  siie  iiad 
been  taken  very  ill.  He  must  change 
the  bill. 

"Impossible!" was  tiie  reply.  "If 
she  can't  sing,  I  close." 

Ashmead  went  back  to  The  Star. 

Ina  was  in  her  bedroom. 

He  sent  in  a  line,  "Can  you  sing 
to-night?  If  not,  he  says  he  must 
close. " 

The  reply  came  back  in  rather  a 
trembling  hand.  "  I  suffer  too  much 
by  falsehood  to  break  faitli  myself.  I 
shall  pray  till  night :  and  tiien  I  shall 
sing.  If  I  die  on  the  slage,  all  the 
better  for  me." 

Was  not  this  a  great  soul  ? 


CHAPTER  XI. 

That  same  morning  our  English 
party  snatciied  a  hasty  breakfast  in 
traveling  attire.  Severne  was  not 
there ;  but  sent  word  to  Vizard  he 
should  be  there  in  time. 

This  tilled  the  cup.  Zoe's  wound- 
ed piide  liad  been  rising  higher  and 
higher  all  the  nigiit,  and  she  came 
down  rather  jiale,  fnnn  broken  rest, 
and  sternly  resolve<l.  She  had  a  few- 
serious  words  with  Fanny,  and  sketch- 
ed her  out  a  little  map  of  conduct, 
which  showed  tiiat  she  had  thought 
the  matter  well  o\er. 

IJut  iier  \i\m\  bid  fair  to  be  de- 
ranged :  Severne  was  not  at  tiie  sta- 
tion :  then  came  a  change.  Zoe  was 
restless,  and  cast  anxious  glances. 

But  at  the  second  bell  he  darted 
into  the  carriage,  as  if  he  had  just  dis- 


patched some  wonderful  business  to 
get  there  in  time.  While  the  train 
was  starting,  he  busied  himself  in  ar- 
ranging his  things  ;  but,  once  started, 
he  put  on  his  sunny  look,  and  pre- 
pared to  be,  as  usual,  the  life  and  soul 
of  the  party. 

But,  for  once,  he  met  a  frost.  Zoe 
was  wrapped  in  impenetrable  hauteur, 
and  Fanny  in  polite  indifference. 
Never  was  loss  of  favor  more  ably 
marked  without  the  least  ill-breeding, 
and  no  good  handle  given  to  seek  an 
exjjlanation. 

No  doubt  a  straightforward  man, 
with  justice  on  his  side,  would  have 
asked  them  plumply  whether  he  had 
been  so  unfortumrte  as  to  offend,  and 
how;  and  this  was  what  Zoe  secretly 
wished,  however  she  might  seem  to 
repel  it.  But  Severne  w as  too  ciafty 
for  that.  He  had  learned  the  art  of 
waiting. 

After  a  few  efforts  at  conversation 
and  smooth  rebuffs,  he  put  on  a  sur- 
prised, mortitied,  and  sorrowful  air, 
and  awaited  the  attack,  which  he  felt 
would  come  soon  or  late. 

This  skillful  inertia  baffled  the  fair, 
in  a  man  ;  in  a  woman,  they  might 
have  expected  it;  and,  after  a  few 
hours,  Zoe's  patience  began  to  wear 
out. 

Tiie  train  stopped  for  twenty  niiii- 
ntes,  and,  even  while  they  were  snatdi- 
iiig  a  little  refreshment,  the  dark  locks 
and  the  blonde  came  very  close  to- 
gether ;  and  Zoe,  exasjierated  by  lier 
own  wounded  pride  and  the  sullen 
torpor  of  her  lover,  gave  Fanny  fresh 
instructions,  which  nobody  was  better 
(pialilied  to  carry  out  than  that  young 
lady,  as  nobody  was  better  alile  to 
battle  female  strategy  than  the  gentle- 
man. 

This  time,  however,  the  ladies  had 
certain  advantages,  to  balance  his 
subtlety  and  his  habit  of  stating  any 
thing,  true  or  false,  that  suited  liis 
imnieiliate  jnirpose. 

Tiiey  o])ened  very  cat-like.  Fanny 
affected  to  be  outgrowing  her  ill-hu- 
mor, and    voliniteered    a    civil    word 


80 


A  WOMAN-IIATEli. 


or  two  to  Severne.  Thereupon  Zoe 
turned  sliiii'|ily  awny  from  Fiiiiny,  as 
if  slie  ilisa]i[)rovcd  licr  cuiuliiL't,  and 
took  a  book.  Tliis  was  jjretty  sly, 
ivnd  done,  I  suppose,  to  remove  all 
idea  of  concert  between  the  fair  assail- 
ants ;  whereas  it  was  a  secret  signal 
for  the  concert  to  come  into  opera- 
tion, it  being  Fanny's  part  to  play 
upon  Severne,  and  Zoe's  to  watch, 
from  her  corner,  every  lineament  of 
his  face  under  fire. 

"By- the- way,  Mr.  Severne,"  said 
Fanny,  apropos  of  a  church  on  a  hill 
they  were  admiring,  "did  you  get  your 
winnings?" 

"  iMy  winnings!  You  are  sarcas- 
tical." 

"Am  I?  Reallv  I  did  not  intend 
to  be." 

"No,  no;  forgive  me  ;  but  that  did 
seem  a  little  cruel.  Miss  Dover,  I  was 
a  heavy  loser." 

"Not  while  we  were  there.  The 
lady  and  gentleman  wlio  played  with 
your  monev  won,  oil,  such  a  deal  I" 

"Tiic  devil  they  did!" 

"Yes.  Did  yon  not  stay  behind, 
last  night,  to  get  it?  We  never  saw 
vou  at  tlie  Kussie." 

"I  was  very  ill." 

"Bleeding  at  the  nose?" 

"No.  Tiiat  always  relieves  me 
when  it  comes.  I  am  subject  to  faint- 
ing fits:  once  I  lay  insensible  so  long 
they  were  going  to  bury  me.  Now, 
do  pray  tell  me  what  makes  you  fancy 
any  i)ody  won  a  lot  with  my  money." 

"  Well,  I  will.  You  know  you  left 
fifty  pounds  for  a  friend  to  bet  with." 

Severne  stared ;  but  was  too  eager 
for  information  to  fpiestion  her  how 
she  knew  this.     "  Yes,  I  did,"  said  he. 

"And  vou  really  don't  know  what 
followed?" 

"Good  heavens!   how  can  I?" 

"Well,  then,  as  you  ran  out  —  to 
faint.  Mademoiselle  Klosking  came  in, 
just  as  she  did  at  the  opera,  you  know, 
tiie  time  before,  when  you  ran  out — 
tc)  bleed.  She  siijiped  into  your  ciiair, 
tlie  very  moment  you  left  it ;  and  your 
friend  with  the  flaming  neck-tie  told 


her  you  had  set  him  to  bet  with  your 
money.  By -the -bye,  Mr.  Severne, 
how  on  earth  do  you  and  INlademoisclle 
Klosking,  who  iiave  both  so  much 
taste  in  dress,  come  to  have  a  mutual 
friend,  vulgaiity  in  person,  with  a  vel- 
veteen coat  and  an  impossible  neck- 
tie ?" 

"  What  are  you  talking  about,  Miss 
Dover  ?  1  do  just  know  Mademoiselle 
Klosking ;  I  met  her  in  society  in 
Vienna,  two  years  ago :  but  that  cad 
I  commissioned  to  bet  for  me,  I  never 
saw  before  in  my  life.  You  are  keep- 
ing me  on  tenter-hooks.  My  money — 
my  money — my  money  !  I  f  you  have 
a  heart  in  your  bosom,  tell  me  what 
became  of  my  mone_y." 

lie  was  violent,  for  the  first  time 
since  they  had  known  him,  and  his 
eyes  flashed  fire. 

"Well,"  said  Fanny,  beginning  to 
be  puzzled  and  rather  frightened, 
"this  man,  who  you  sai/  was  a  new 
acciiiiiiutance — " 

"  Whom  I  sai/  ?  Do  yon  mean  to 
tell  me  I  am  a  liar?"  He  fumbled 
eagerly  in  his  breast-jjocket,  and  jiro- 
duced  a  card.  "There,"  said  he, 
"this  is  the  card  he  gave  me,  'Mr. 
Joseph  Ashmead.'  Now,  may  this 
train  dasii  over  the  next  viaduct,  and 
take  you  and  Miss  Vizard  to  heaven, 
and  me  to  hell,  if  I  ever  saw  Mr. 
Joseph  Ashmead's  face  before.  The 
M()Ni;y! — THio  money!" 

He  uttered  this  furiously,  and,  it  is 
a  curious  fact,  but  Zoe  turned  red,  and 
Fanny  jiale.  It  was  really  in  (juite  a 
cowed  voice  Miss  Dover  went  on  to 
say,  "La!  don't  fly  out  like  that. 
Well,  then,  the  man  refused  to  bet 
with  yoiu-  money;  so  then  Mademoi- 
selle Klosking  said  she  would ;  and 
she  ])layed  —  oh,  how  she  did  play! 
She  doubled,  and  doubled,  and  dou- 
bled, hundreds  upon  himdreds.  She 
made  a  mountain  of  gold  and  a  pyra- 
mid of  bank-notes;  and  she  never 
stopped  till  she  broke  the  bank — 
there!" 

"With  my  money?"  gasped  Sev- 
erne. 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


81 


"Yes;  with  your  money.  Your 
friend  with  the  loud  tie  poclieted  it :  I 
beg  your  pardon,  not  your  friend — 
only  hers.  Harrington  says  he  is  her 
cher  ami." 

"The  money  is  mine !"  he  shrieked. 
"I  don't  care  who  played  with  it,  it 
is  mine.  And  the  fellow  had  the  im- 
pudence to  send  me  back  my  fifty 
pounds  to  the  Kussie." 

"What!  you  gave  him  your  ad- 
dress ?"  tliis  witli  an  involuntary  glance 
of  surprise  at  Zoe. 

"  Of  course.  Do  you  think  I  leave 
a  man  fifty  pounds  to  play  with,  and 
don't  give  him  my  address  ?  He  has 
won  thousands  with  my  money,  and 
sent  me  back  my  fifty,  for  a  blind,  the 
thief!" 

"Well,  really  it  is  too  bad,"  said 
Fanny.  "  But,  there— I'm  afraid  you 
must  make  the  best  of  it.  Of  course, 
tiieir  sending  back  your  fifty  pounds 
siiows  they  mean  to  keep  their  win- 
nings." 

"You  talk  like  a  woman,"  said  he ; 
then,  grinding  iiis  teeth,  and  stretch- 
ing out  a  long  muscular  arm,  lie  said,  ; 
"I'll  take  the  blackguard  by  tlie 
throat,  and  tear  it  out  of  him,  tliough 
1  tear  his  life  out  along  with  it." 

All  this  time  Zoe  had  been  looking 
at  him  with  concern,  and  even  with 
admiration.  He  seemed  more  beauti- 
ful than  ever,  to  her,  under  the  influ- 
ence of  passion,  atid  more  of  a  man. 

"  Mr.  ISeverne,''  said  slie,  "be  calm. 
Fanny  has  misled  you,  without  intend- 
ing it.  Slie  did  not  hear  ail  tiiat  pass- 
ed between  those  two;  I  did.  The 
velveteen  and  neck-tie  man  refused  to 
bet  with  your  money.  It  was  Made- 
moiselle klosking  wlm  l)et,  and  with 
her  own  money.  Siie  took  twenty- 
five  ])0unds  of  her  own,  and  twen- 
ty-five pounds  of  yours,  and  won  two 
or  three  hundred  in  a  few  moments. 
Surely,  as  a  gentleman,  you  can  not 
ask  ii  lady  to  do  more  than  repay  you 
your  twenty-five  pounds." 

Severne  was  a  little  cowed  by  Zoe's 
interference.     He  stood  liis  ground; 
but  sullenlv,  instead  of  violently. 
4* 


"Miss  Vizard,  if  I  were  weak 
enough  to  trust  a  lady  with  my  mon- 
ey at  a  gambling-table,  I  should  ex- 
pect foul  play ;  for  I  never  knew  a 
lady  yet  who  would  not  cheat  at  cards, 
if  she  could.  I  trusted  my  money  to 
a  tradesman  to  bet  with.  If  he  takes 
a  female  partner,  that  is  no  business 
of  mine ;  he  is  responsible  all  the 
same,  and  I'll  have  my  money." 

He  jumped  up  at  the  word,  and 
looked  out  at  the  window;  he  even 
fumbled  with  the  door,  and  tried  to 
open  it. 

"You  had  better  jump  out,"  said 
Fanny. 

"And  then  they  would  keep  my 
money  for  good.  No,"  said  he,  "  I'll 
wait  for  the  nearest  station."  He 
sunk  back  into  his  seat,  looking  unut- 
terable things. 

Fanny  looked  rather  rueful  at  first; 
then  she  said,  spitefidly,  "You  must 
be  very  sure  of  your  influence  with 
your  old  sweetheart.  You  forget  she 
"has  got  another  now — a  tradesman, 
too.  He  will  stick  to  the  money,  and 
'  make  her  stick  to  it.  Tiieir  sending 
'  the  fifty  pounds  shows  that." 

Zoe's  eyes  were  on  him  with  micro- 
scopic power,  and,  with  all  his  self- 
command,  she  saw  him  wince  and 
change  color,  and  give  other  signs  that 
this  shaft  had  told  in  many  ways. 

He  shut  his  countenance  the  next 
moment;  but  it  had  opened,  and  Zoe 
was  on  fire  with  jealousy  and  suspi- 
cion. 

1  Fluctuating  Fanny  regretted  the 
turn  things  had  taken.  She  did  not 
want  to  lose  a  pleasant  male  compan- 
ion, and  she  felt  sure  Zoe  woidd  be 
unhappy,  and  cross  to  her,  if  he  went. 
".*>ine!y,  Mr.  Seveme,"slie  said,  "you 
will  not  desert  us  and  go  back  for  so 
small  a  chance.  Why,  we  are  a  hun- 
i  dred  and  fifty  miles  from  Homiuirg, 
and  all  the  nearer  to  dear  old  V.n- 
gland.  There,  there  —  we  must  be 
kinder  to  you,  and  make  you  forget 
this  misfortune." 

Thus  spoke  the  trimmer.  The  re- 
ply took  her  by  surprise. 


82 


A  WOMAN-IIATElt. 


"And  whose  fault  is  it  tliat  I  am 
olilii^ccl  to  get  out  a  Imiulred  ami  fifty 
miles  from  lloinhmg';'  Yuii  knew  all 
this.  You  could  have  got  me  a  delay 
of  a  few  hours  to  go  and  get  my  due. 
You  know  I  am  a  poor  man.  With 
all  your  cleverness,  you  don't  know 
what  made  me  ))Oor,  or  you  would 
feel  some  remorse,  perhajts ;  but  you 
know  I  am  poor  when  most  1  could 
wish  I  were  rich.  You  have  heard 
tiiat  old  woman  there  tling  my  ))over- 
ty  in  my  teeth ;  yet  you  could  keep 
this  from  me — just  to  assist  .a  cheat 
and  jilay  niton  the  feelings  of  a  friend. 
Now,  what  good  has  tlnit  done  j'ou, 
to  inflict  misery  on  me  in  sj)ort,  on  a 
man  who  never  gave  you  a  moment's 
pain  if  he  could  lielp  it  ?" 

Fanny  looked  ruefully  this  way  and 
that,  her  face  began  to  work,  and  she 
laid  down  her  arms,  if  a  lady  can  be 
said  to  do  that  who  lays  down  a  strong 
weapon  and  takes  up  a  stronger;  in 
other  words,  she  burst  out  crying,  and 
said  no  more.  Y'ou  see,  she  was  poor 
herself. 

Severne  took  no  notice  of  her;  lie 
was  accustomed  to  make  women  cry. 
He  thrust  his  head  out  of  the  window 
in  hopes  of  seeing  a  station  near,  and 
his  whole  being  was  restless  as  if  he 
would  like  to  jump  out. 

While  lie  was  in  this  condition  of 
mind  and  body,  the  hand  he  had  once 
kissed  so  tenderly,  and  shocked  IMiss 
Maitland,  passed  an  envelope  over  his 
shoulder,  with  two  lines  written  on  it 
in  jiencil : 

"If  you    f!()    HACK    TO    HoMBURG, 

oblige  MK  BY  uK.MAiNiXG  there." 

This  demands  an  explanation  ;  but 
it  shall  be  brief. 

Fanny's  shrewd  bint,  that  the  mon- 
ey could  only  be  obtained  fiom  Made- 
moiselle Klosking,  had  jiicrced  Zoe 
througii  and  through.  Jler  mind 
grasped  all  that  had  happened,  all  that 
impended,  and,  wisely  declining  to  try 
and  account  foi-,  or  reconcile,  all  the 
jarring  details,  she  settled,  with  a 
woman's   broad  instinct,  that,  some- 


how or  other,  Iiis  going  back  to  Ilom- 

burg  meant  going  back  to  Mademoi- 
selle Klosking.  Whether  that  lady 
would  buy  him  or  not,  she  did  not 
know,  liut  going  back  to  her  meant 
going  a  journey  to  .see  a  rival,  with 
consequences  illimitable. 

She  had  courage ;  she  had  pride ; 
she  had  jealousy.  Siie  resolved  to 
lose  her  lover,  or  have  him  all  to  her- 
self. Share  him  she  would  not,  nor 
even  endure  the  torture  of  the  doubt. 

She  took  an  enveloi)c  out  of  her 
sachel,  and  with  the  ])encil  attached 
to  her  ciiatelaine  wrote  the  fatal 
words,  "If  you  go  back  to  Ilomburg, 
oblige  me  by  remaining  there." 

At  this  moment  she  was  not  goad- 
ed by  pi(pie  or  any  j>etty  feeling. 
Indeed,  his  reproach  to  Fanny  had 
touched  her  a  little,  and  it  was  with 
the  tear  in  her  eye  she  came  to  the 
resolution,  and  handed  him  that  line, 
which  told  him  she  knew  her  value, 
and,  cost  what  it  might,  would  part 
witli  any  man  forever  rather  than  share 
him  with  the  Klosking  or  any  other 
woman. 

Severne  took  the  line,  eyed  it,  real- 
ized it,  fell  back  from  the  window, 
and  dropped  into  his  seat.  This  gave 
Zoe  a  consoling  sense  of  power.  She 
had  seen  her  lover  raging  and  rest- 
less, and  wanting  to  jum])  out,  yet  now 
beliclcl  him  literally  felled  with  a  word 
from  her  hand. 

IJe  leaned  his  head  in  his  hand  in  a 
sort  of  broken-down,  collapsed,  dog- 
ged way  that  moved  her  pity,  though 
hardly  her  resj)ect. 

I}y-and-by  it  struck  her  as  a  very 
grave  thing  that  he  did  not  reply  by 
word,  nor  even  by  look.  He  could 
decide  with  a  glance,  and  why  did  he 
hesitate?  Was  he  really  balancing 
her  against  Mademoiselle  Klosking 
weighted  with  a  share  of  his  win- 
nings ? 

This  doubt  was  wormwood  to  her 
pride  and  self-respect;  but  his  crush- 
ed attitude  allayed  in  some  degree  the 
mere  irritation  his  doubt  caused. 

The  minutes  passed  and  the  miles : 


A  WOMAN-HATEK. 


83 


still  that  broken  figure  sat  before  her. 
witli  his  face  hidden  by  his  white 
hand. 

Zoe's  courage  began  to  falter.  Mis- 
givings seized  her.  She  had  made 
that  a  matter  of  love  which,  after  all, 
to  a  man,  might  be  a  mere  matter  of 
business.  He  was  poor,  too,  and  she 
had  thrust  her  jealousy  between  him 
and  money.  He  might  liave  his  pride 
too,  and  rebel  against  her  affront. 

As  for  his  thoughts,  under  tliat 
crushed  exterior,  wliich  he  put  on  for 
a  l)lind,  they  were  so  deliberate  and 
calculating  that  I  shall  not  mix  them 
on  this  page  with  that  pure  and  gen- 
erous creature's.  Another  time  will 
do  to  reveal  his  sordid  arithmetic. 

As  for  Zoe,  she  settled  down  into 
wishing,  with  all  her  heart,  she  had 
not  submitted  her  lover  so  imperious- 
ly to  a  test,  the  severity  of  which  she 
now  saw  she  had  underrated. 

Presently  the  speed  of  the  train  be- 
gan to  slacken — all  too  soon.  She 
now  dreaded  to  learn  her  fate.  Was 
she,  or  was  she  not,  worth  a  few  thou- 
sand pounds  ready  money  ? 

A  signal-post  was  past,  proving  that 
they  were  about  to  enter  a  station. 
Yet  another.  Now  the  wheels  were 
hardly  turning.  Now  the  jjlatforni 
was  visible.  Yet  he  never  moved  his 
white,  delicate,  womanish  fingers  from 
his  forehead,  but  remained  still  al)- 
sorbed,  and  looked  undecided. 

At  last  the  motion  entirely  ceased. 
Then,  as  she  tiu'ned  her  head  to  glean, 
if  possible,  the  name  of  tiie  place,  he 
stole  a  furtive  glance  at  her.  She 
was  pallid,  agitated.  He  resolved  upon 
his  course. 

As  soon  as  the  train  stopped,  he 
opened  the  door  and  jami)ed  out, 
without  a  word  to  Zoe,  or  even  a  look. 

Zoe  turned  jiale  as  death.  "  1  have 
lost  him,"  said  she. 

"  No,  no,"  cried  Fanny.  "  See,  he 
has  not  taken  his  cane  and  umbrel- 
la." 

"TAc?/  will  not  keep  him  from  fly- 
ing to  his  money  and  her,"  moaned 
Zoe.     ''Did  vou  not  see?     He  never 


once  looked  at  me.     He  could  not.     I 
am  sick  at  heart." 

This  set  Fanny  fluttering.  "There, 
let  me  out  to  speak  to  him." 

"  Sit  quiet,"  said  Zoe,  sternly. 

"  No ;  no.     If  you  love  him — " 

"I  do  love  him  —  passionately. 
And  therefore  I'll  die  rather  than 
share  him  with  any  one." 

"  But  it  is  dreadful  to  be  fixed  here, 
and  not  allowed  to  move  hand  or 
foot." 

"It  is  the  lot  of  women.  Let  me 
feel  the  hand  of  a  fiieud,  that  is  all ; 
for  I  am  sick  at  heart." 

Fanny  gave  her  her  hand,  and  all 
the  sympathy  her  shallow  nature  had 
to  bestow. 

Zoe  sat  motionless,  gripping  her 
friend's  hand  almost  convulsively,  a 
statue  of  female  fortitude. 

This  suspense  could  not  last  long. 
The  officials  ordered  the  travelers  to 
the  carriages  ;  doors  were  opened  and 
slammed ;  the  engine  gave  a  snort, 
and  only  at  that  moment  did  Mr.  Ed- 
ward Severne  tear  the  door  open  and 
bolt  into  the  carriage. 

Oh,  it  was  pitiable,  but  lovely,  to  see 
the  blood  rnsh  into  Zoe's  face,  and  the 
fire  into  her  eye,  and  the  sweet  mouth 
expand  in  a  smile  of  joj'  and  tri- 
umph ! 

She  sat  a  moment,  almost  paralyzed 
with  pleasure,  ami  then  cast  her  eyes 
down,  lest  their  fire  should  proclaim 
her  feelings  too  plainly. 

As  for  Severne,  he  only  glanced  at 
her  as  he  came  in,  and  then  shnimed 
her  eye.  He  presented  to  her  the 
grave,  resolved  countenance  of  a  man 
who  has  been  forced  to  a  decision,  hut 
means  to  abide  by  it. 

In  reality  he  was  delighted  at  the 
turn  things  had  taken.  The  money 
was  not  necessarily  lost,  since  he  knew 
where  it  was;  and  Zoe  had  compro- 
mised herself  beyond  retreating.  He 
intended  to  wear  this  anxious  face  a 
long  while.  liut  his  artificial  snow 
had  to  melt,  so  real  a  sim  shone  fidl 
on  it.  The  mcuneiit  he  looked  fidl  at 
Zoe,  she  repaid  him  with  such  a  point- 


84 


A  WOMAN-IIATKR. 


blank  beam  of  glorious  tenderness  and 
gratitude  as  made  iiim  tlirill  witli  pas- 
sion as  well  as  triiiiiipii.  lie  felt  Iier 
whole  heart  was  his,  and  from  that 
hour  his  poverty  would  never  be  al- 
lowed to  \veig!i  with  lier.  lie  cleared 
np,  and  left  off  acting,  because  it  was 
superfluous  ;  he  had  now  only  to  bask 
in  sunshine.  Zoe,  always  tender,  l)Ut 
coy  till  this  moment,  made  love  to  him 
like  a  young  goddess.  Even  Fanny 
yielded  to  the  solid  proof  of  sincerity 
he  had  given,  and  was  downright  af- 
fectionate. 

He  was  king.  And  from  one  gra- 
dation to  another,  tiiey  entered  Co- 
logne witii  Severne  seated  between  the 
two  girls,  each  w-ith  a  hand  in  his,  and 
a  great  disposition  to  pet  him  and  sjioil 
him ;  more  than  once,  indeed,  a  deli- 
cate head  just  grazed  eacli  of  his 
square  shoulders ;  but  candor  com- 
pels me  to  own  that  their  fatigue  and 
tiie  yawing  of  the  carriage  at  tiie 
time  were  more  to  blame  than  the 
tired  girls ;  for  at  the  enormity  there 
was  a  prompt  retirement  to  a  distance. 
Miss  Maitland  had  been  a  long  time 
in  the  land  of  Nod ;  and  Vizaid,  from 
tiie  first,  had  preferred  male  compan- 
ions and  tobacco. 

At  Cologne  they  visited  the  pride  of 
Germany, that  migiity  cathedral  wliicii 
the  IMiildle  Ages  projected,  com- 
menced, and  left  to  decay  of  old  age 
before  completion,  and  our  enter]nis- 
ing  age  will  finish  ;  but  they  departed 
on  the  same  day. 

Before  they  reached  England,  the 
love  -  making  between  iSeverne  and 
Zoe,  though  it  never  passed  the  bounds 
of  good  taste,  was  so  appaient  to  any 
female  eye  that  Miss  Maitland  re- 
monstrated severely  with  Fanny. 

But  the  trimmer  was  now  won  to 
the  other  side.  Siie  would  not  offend 
Aunt  Maitland  by  owning  her  con- 
version. !She  said,  hypocritically,  "I 
am  afraid  it  is  no  use  objecting  at 
])resent,  aunt.  The  attachment  is  too 
strong  on  both  sides.  And,  whether 
he  is  poor  or  not,  he  has  sacrificed  iiis 
money  to  her  feelings,  and  so,  now, 


she  feels  bound  in  honor,  I  know 
iier;  she  won't  listen  to  a  word  now, 
aunt:  wliy  irritate  her?  Siie  woukl 
quarrel  with  both  of  us  in  a  moment." 
"Poor  girl!"  said  Miss  Maitland  ; 
and  took  the  hint.  She  had  still  an 
arrow  in  her  ([uiver — Vizard. 

In  mid-channel,  ten  miles  south  of 
Dover,  she  caught  him  in  a  huid  in- 
terval of  non-smoke.     She  reminded 
him  he  had  promised  her  to  give  Mr. 
Severne  a  hint  about  Zoe. 
"So  I  did,"  said  he. 
"And  have  you?" 
"Well,  no ;  "to  tell  the  truth,  I  for- 
got." 

"Then  please  do  it  now  ;  for  they 
are  going  on  worse  than  ever." 
"I'll  warn  the  fool,"  said  he. 
He  did  warn  him,  and  in  the  follow- 
ing terms : 

"Look  here,  old  fellow.  I  hear 
you  are  getting  awfully  sweet  on  my 
sister  Zoe." 

No  answer.     Seveme  on  his  guard. 
"Now,  you  had  better  mind  your 
eye.     Slie  is  a  very  pretty  girl,  and 
you  may  find  yourself  entangled  be- 
fore you  know  where  you  are." 

Severne  hung  his  iiead.  "Of 
course,  I  know  it  is  great  presumj)- 
tion  in  me." 

"Presumption?  fiddlestick!  Such 
a  man  as  you  are  ought  not  to  be  tied 
to  any  woman,  or,  if  you  must  be,  you 
ought  not  to  go  cheap.  Mind,  Zoe  is 
a  poor  girl;  only  ten  thousand  in  the 
world.  Flirt  with  whom  you  like — 
there  is  no  harm  in  that ;  but  don't 
get  seriously  entangled  with  any  of 
them.  Good  sisters,  and  good  daugh- 
ters, and  good  fiirts  make  had  wives." 
"Oil,  then,"  said  Severne,  "it  is 
only  on  my  account  you  object." 

"Well,  principally.  And  I  don't 
exactly  object.  I  warn.  In  the  first 
place,  as  soon  as  ever  we  get  into  Bar- 
fordsliire,  she  will  most  likely  jilt  yon. 
You  may  be  only  her  Continental 
lover.  How  can  I  tell,  or  you  either  f 
And  if  not,  and  you  were  to  be  weak 
enough  to  marry  her,  she  would  de- 
veloj)  unexpected  vices  directly — tliey 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


all  do.  And  yon  are  not  rich  enough 
to  live  in  a  iiouse  of  your  own ;  you 
would  have  to  live  in  mine  —  a  fine 
fate  for  a  rising  blade  like  you." 

"What  a  terrible  pros))ect — to  be 
tied  to  the  best  friend  in  England  as 
well  as  the  loveliest  woman  !" 

"Oh,  if  that  is  the  view  you  take," 
said  Vizard,  beaming  with  delight, 
"it  is  no  use  talking  reason  to  you." 

When  they  reached  London,  Vizard 
gave  Miss  Mailland  an  outline  of  this 
convei'sation  ;  and,  so  far  from  seeing 
the  humor  of  it,  which,  nevertheless, 
was  pretty  strong  and  characteristic 
of  the  man  and  bis  one  foible,  she 
took  the  huff,  and  would  not  even  stay 
to  dinner  at  the  hotel.  She  would  go 
into  her  own  county  by  the  next  train, 
bag  and  baggage. 

Mr.  Severne  was  the  only  one  who 
offered  to  accompany  her  to  the  Great 
Western  Railway.  She  declined.  He 
insisted;  went  with  her;  got  her  tick- 
et, numbered  and  arranged  her  ]mck- 
ages,  and  saw  her  safely  off,  with  an 
air  of  profound  respect  and  admirably 
feigned  regret. 

That  she  was  the  dupe  of  his  art, 
may  be  doubted  :  that  he  lost  nothing 
by  it,  is  certain.  Men  are  not  ruined 
by  civility.  As  soon  as  she  was  seat- 
ed, she  said, "  I  beg,  sir,  you  will  waste 
no  more  time  with  me.  Mr.  Severne, 
you  have  behaved  to  me  like  a  gentle- 
man, and  that  is  very  uimsual  in  a 
man  of  your  age  nowadays.  I  can 
not  alter  my  o])inion  ai)out  my  niece 
and  you  :  but  1  am  sorry  you  are  a 
poor  gentleman  —  much  too  jioor  to 
marry  her,  and  I  wisli  I  could  make 
you  a  rich  one ;  but  I  can  not.  There 
is  my  hand.' 

You  should  have  seen  the  air  of  ten- 
der veneration  with  which  the  yointg 
Machiavel  bowed  over  her  band,  and 
even  imprinted  a  ligiit  touch  on  it 
with  his  velvet  lips. 

Then  he  retired,  disconsolate,  and, 
once  out  of  sight,  wbipjied  into  a  gin- 
palace  and  swallowed  a  ([uarteru  of 
neat  brandy,  to  take  the  taste  out  of 
his  mouth,     "Go  it,  Ned,"  said  he, 


to  himself;  "you  can't  afford  to  make 
enemies." 

The  old  lady  went  off  bitter  against 
the  whole  party  except  Mr.  Severne; 
and  he  retired  to  his  friends,  disem- 
barrassed of  the  one  foe  he  had  not 
turned  into  a  downright  friend,  but 
only  disarmed.  Well  does  the  great 
Voltaire  recommend  what  he  well 
calls  "le  grand  art  de  plaire." 

Vizard  sent  Harris  into  Barford- 
shire,  to  prepare  for  the  comfort  of 
the  party  ;  and  to  light  fires  in  all 
the  bedrooms,  though  it  was  siunmer  ; 
and  to  see  the  beds,  blankets,  and 
sheets  aired  at  the  very  fires  of  the  very 
rooms  they  were  to  be  used  in.  This 
sacred  otfice  he  never  trusted  to  a 
housekeeper  ;  he  used  even  to  declare, 
as  the  result  of  experience,  that  it  was 
beyond  the  intellect  of  any  woman 
really  to  air  mattresses,  blankets,  and 
sheets — all  three.  He  had  also  a  jirint- 
ed  list  he  used  to  show  about,  of  five 
acquaintances,  stout  fellows  all,  whom 
"little  bits  of  women"  (such  was  his 
phraseology)  had  laid  low  witli  damp 
beds,  having  crippled  two  for  life  with 
rheumatism  and  lumbago,  and  sent 
three  to  their  long  home. 

Meantime  Severne  took  the  ladies 
to  every  public  attraction  by  day  and 
night,  and  Vizard  thanked  him,  before 
the  fair,  for  his  consideration  in  tak- 
ing them  off  his  hands;  and  Severne 
retorted  by  thanking  him  for  leaving 
them  on  his. 

It  may  seem,  at  first,  a  vile  selec- 
tion ;  but  I  am  going  to  ask  tlie  la- 
dies who  honor  me  with  their  atten- 
tion to  follow,  not  tliat  gay,  amorous 
party  of  three,  but  this  solitary  cynic 
on  his  round. 

Taking  a  turn  roimd  the  garden  in 
Leicester  Square,  wiiich  was  new  to 
Iiim,  Harrington  Vizard's  observant 
eye  saw  a  young  lady  rise  up  from  u 
seat  to  go,  but  turn  pale  directly,  and 
sit  down  again  upon  the  arm  of  the 
scat,  as  if  for  su])port. 

"  Halloo!'  said  Vizard,  in  his  blunt 
way,  "//"«  are  not  well.  What  can  I 
do  for  you  ?" 


86 


A  WOxMAN-IIATKU. 


"  I  am  all  iiKl>t)"  said  she.  "  Tlease 
go  on  ;"  the  latter  words  in  a  tone  that 
implied  she  was  not  a  novice,  and  the 
attentions  of  gentlemen  to  strange  la- 
dies were  suspected. 

"I  heg  your  pardon,"  said  Vizard, 
coolly.  "  You  are  not  all  right.  You 
look  as  if  you  were  going  to  faint." 

"What,  are  my  lips  blue?" 

"No  ;  hut  they  are  pale." 

"  Well,  then  it  is  not  a  case  of  faint- 
ing.    It  may  be  exhaustion." 

"You  know  best.  What  shall  we 
do?" 

"  Why,  nothing.  Yes  ;  mind  our 
own  business." 

"AVitli  all  my  heart;  my  business 
just  now  is  to  oiler  you  some  restora- 
tive— a  glass  of  wine." 

"Oh  yes!  I  think  I  see  myself 
going  into  a  public- house  with  you. 
Besides,  I  don't  believe  in  stimulants. 
Strength  can  only  enter  the  human 
body  one  way.  I  know  what  is  the 
matter  with  me." 

"What  is  it?" 

"  I  am  not  obliged  to  tell  yoii." 

"Of  course  you  are  not  obliged; 
but  you  might  as  well." 

""Well,  then,  it  is  Hunger." 

"Hunger:" 

"  Hunger  —  famine  —  starvation. 
Don't  you  know  English  ?" 

"  I  hope  you  are  not  serious, 
madam,"  said  Vizard,  very  gravely. 
"  However,  if  ladies  will  say  such 
things  as  that,  men  with  stomachs  in 
their  bosoms  must  act  accordingly. 
Oblige  me  by  taking  my  aim,  as  you 
are  weak,  and  we  will  acijourn  to  that 
eating-house  over  the  way." 

"Much  obliged,"  said  the  lady, 
satirically,  "our  acquaintance  is  not 
quite  long  enough  for  that." 

He  looked  at  her ;  a  tall,  slim, 
young  lady,  black  merino,  by  no  means 
new,  clenn  cuffs  and  collar,  leaning 
against  the  chair  for  support,  and  yet 
sacrificing  herself  to  con\entional  pro- 
priety, and  even  withstanding  him  with 
a  ])retty  little  air  of  defiance,  tiiat  was 
pitiable,  her  pallor  and  the  weakness 
of  her  bodv  considered. 


The  poor  Woman-hater's  bowels  be- 
gan to  yearn.  "J>ook  here,  you  lit- 
tle s])ii(ire,"  said  he,  "if  you  don't 
instantly  take  my  aim,  I'll  catch  you 
up,  and  carry  you  over,  with  no  more 
trouble  than  you  would  carry  a  thread- 
pa  ])cr." 

She  looked  him  up  and  down  very 
keenly,  and  at  last  with  a  slight  ex- 
pression of  feminine  approval,  the  first 
she  had  vouchsafed  him.  Then  she 
folded  her  arms,  and  cocked  her  little 
nose  at  him,  "You  daren't.  I'll  call 
the  police." 

"if  you  do,  I'll  tell  them  you  are 
my  little  cousin,  mad  as  a  .March  hare  : 
starving,  and  won't  cat.  Come,  how 
is  it  to  be?"     He  advanced  upon  her. 

"  You  can't  be  in  earnest,  sir,"  said 
she,  with  sudden  dignity. 

"Am  I  not,  though?  You  don't 
know  vie.  I  am  used  to  be  obeyed. 
If  you  don't  go  with  me  like  a  sensi- 
ble girl,  I'll  carry  you — to  your  dinner 
— like  a  ruftian." 

"Then  III  go— like  a  lady,"  said 
she,  with  sudden  humility. 

He  offered  her  his  arm.  She  pass- 
ed hers  within  ;  but  leaned  as  lightly 
as  j)ossible  on  it,  and  her  poor  pale 
face  was  a  little  pink  as  they  went. 

He  entered  the  eating-house,  and 
asked  for  two  portions  of  cold  roast 
beef,  not  to  keep  her  waiting.  They 
were  brought. 

"Sir,"  said  she,  with  a  subjugated 
air,  "will  you  be  so  good  as  cut  up 
the  meat  small,  and  pass  it  to  me  a 
bit  or  two  at  a  time." 

He  was  surprised,  but  obeyed  her 
orders. 

"And  if  you  could  make  me  talk 
a  little?  Because,  at  sight  of  the 
meat  so  near  jne,  I  feel  like  a  tigress 
— poor  human  nature !  Sir,  I  have 
not  eaten  meat  for  a  week,  nor  food 
of  any  kind  this  two  davs." 

"Good  God!" 

"So  I  must  be  prudent.  People 
h.ave  gorged  themselves  with  furious 
eating  under  those  circumstances ; 
that  is  why  I  asked  you  to  supjjly  me 
slowlv.     Thank  vou.     You  need  not 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


87 


look  at  me  like  that.  Better  folk  than 
I  liave  died  of  hunger.  Sometliing 
tells  me  I  have  reached  the  lowest 
spoke,  wlien  I  have  been  indebted  to 
a  stranger  for  a  meal." 

Vizard  felt  the  water  come  into  his 
eyes ;  but  he  resisted  that  pitiable 
weakness.  "  Bother  that  nonsense !" 
said  he.  "I'll  introduce  myself,  and 
then  you  can't  throw  stranyer  in  my 
teeth.  I  am  Harrington  Vizard,  a 
Barfordshire  squire." 

"I  thought  vou  were  not  a  Cock- 
ney." 

"Lord  forbid!  Does  that  infor- 
mation entitle  me  to  any  in  return  ?" 

"I  don't  know;  but,  whether  or 
no,  my  name  is  Khoda  Gale." 

"  liave  another  plate,  Miss  Gale.?" 

"Tlianks." 

He  ordered  another. 

"  I  am  proud  of  your  confiding  your 
name  to  me,  Miss  Gale  ;  but,  to  tell 
the  truth,  what  I  wanted  to  know  is 
how  a  young  lady  of  your  talent  and 
education  could  be  so  badly  off  as  you 
must  be.  It  is  not  impertinent  curi- 
osity." 

The  young  lady  reflected  a  moment. 
"Sir,"  said  she,  "I  don't  tliink  it  is; 
and  I  would  not  much  mind  telling 
you.  Of  course  I  studied  you  before 
I  came  here.  Even  hunger  would  not 
make  me  sit  in  a  tavern  beside  a  fool, 
or  a  snob,  or  (with  a  faint  blush)  a 
libertine.  But  to  tell  one's  own  story, 
that  is  so  egotistical,  for  one  tiling." 

"Oh,  it  is  never  egotistical  to 
oblige." 

"  Now,  that  is  sophistical.  Then, 
again,  I  am  afraid  I  could  not  tell  it 
to  you  without  crying,  because  you 
seem  rather  a  manly  man,  and  some 
of  it  miglit  revolt  you,  and  you  might 
symjiathize  right  out,  and  then  I 
should  break  down. " 

"  Xo  matter.     Do  us  both  good." 

"Yes,  but  before  the  waiters  and 
people!  See  how  tliey  are  staring  at 
us  already." 

"We  will  have  another  go  in  at 
the  beef,  and  then  adjourn  to  the  gar- 
den for  vour  narrative." 


"No  :  as  much  garden  as  you  like, 
but  no  more  beef.  I  have  eaten  one 
sirloin,  I  reckon.  Will  you  give  me 
one  cup  of  black  tea  without  sugar  or 
milk?" 

Vizard  gave  the  order. 

She  seemed  to  think  some  explana- 
tion necessary,  though  he  did  not. 

"  One  cup  of  tea  agrees  with  my 
brain  and  nerves,"  said  she.  "It 
steadies  them.  That  is  a  matter  of 
individual  experience.  I  sliould  not 
prescribe  it  to  others  any  the  more 
for  tiiat." 

Vizard  sat  wondering  at  the  girl. 
He  said  to  himself,  "What  is  she? 
A  lusus  naturae  '/" 

Wlien  the  tea  came,  and  she  had 
sipped  a  little,  she  perked  up  wonder- 
fully. Said  she,  "Oh,  the  magic  ef- 
fect of  food  eaten  judiciously  !  Now 
I  am  a  lioness,  and  do  not  fear  tiie 
future.  Yes;  I  will  tell  you  my  story 
— and,  if  you  think  you  are  going  to 
hear  a  love-story,  you  will  be  nicely 
caught  —  ha-ha!  No,  s«>;"said  she, 
with  rising  fervor  and  heightened  col- 
or, "you  will  hear  a  story  the  public 
is  deeply  interested  in  and  does  not 
know  it ;  ay,  a  story  that  will  certain- 
ly be  referred  to  with  wonder  and 
siiame,  whenever  civilization  shall  be- 
come a  reality,  and  law  cease  to  be  a 
tool  of  injustice  and  monopoly."  She 
paused  a  moment ;  then  said  a  little 
doggedly,  as  one  used  to  encounter 
prejudice,  "I  am  a  medical  student; 
a  would-be  doctor." 

"Ah!" 

"  And  so  well  qualified  by  genuine 
gifts,  by  study  from  my  infancy,  by 
zeal,  quick  senses,  and  cultivated  judg- 
ment, that,  were  all  tlie  leading  Lon- 
don ])liysicians  examined  to-morrow 
by  qualified  persons  at  the  same  board 
as  myself,  most  of  those  wealthy  prac- 
titioners— not  all,  mind  you — would 
cut  an  indifterent  figure  in  modern 
science  com])ared  witii  me,  whom  you 
have  had  to  rescue  from  starvation — 
because  I  am  a  woman." 

Her  eye  flashed.  But  she  moder- 
ated herself,  and  said,  "That  is  the 


88 


A  WOMAN-llATKlt. 


outline  ;  and  it  is  a  grievance.  Now, 
grievances  are  bores.  You  can  escape 
tiiis  one  before  it  is  too  late." 

"  If  it  lies  with  nie,  I  demand  the 
minutest  details,"  said  Vizard,  warm- 
ly. 

"You  shall  have  them;  and  true 
to  the  letter." 

Vizard  settled  the  small  account, 
and  adjourned,  with  his  (•(iiiiii;inion,  to 
the  garden.  tSiie  wali^ed  by  iiis  side, 
with  her  face  sometimes  fhougiitfully 
hent  on  tiie  grounti,  and  sometimes 
confronting  liim  with  ardor,  and  told 
him  a  true  story,  tiie  simplicaty  of 
wiiich  I  shall  try  not  to  spoil  with 
any  vulgar  arts  of  fiction. 

A  LITTLE  NARRATIVE  OF  DRY  FACTS 
TOLD  TO  A  AVOMAN-IIATEK  BY  A  WOM- 
AN. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

"My  father  was  an  American,  my 
mother  English.  I  was  born  near 
Epsom,  and  lived  there  ten  years. 
Tlicn  my  father  had  ])roperty  left  liim 
in  Massachusetts,  and  we  went  to  Bos- 
ton. Both  my  parents  educated  me, 
and  began  very  early.  I  observe  that 
most  j)arents  are  babies  at  teaching, 
compared  witli  mine.  IMy  father  was 
a  linguist,  and  taught  me  to  lisp  Ger- 
man, French,  and  English  ;  my  moth- 
er Avas  an  ideaed  woman  :  she  taugiit 
me  three  rarities — attention,  observa- 
tion, and  accuracy.  If  I  went  a  walk 
in  the  country,  I  had  to  bring  lier 
home  a  budget :  tlie  men  and  women 
on  the  road,  their  dresses,  api)earance, 
coimtenances,  and  words ;  every  kind 
of  bird  in  tlie  air,  and  insect  and 
chrysalis  in  the  hedges;  the  crops  in 
the  fields,  tlie  flowers  and  herbs  on  the 
banks.  If  I  walked  in  the  town,  I  must 
not  he  eyes  and  no  eyes  ;  woe  betide 
me  if  I  could  oidy  report  the  dresses  I 
Jleally,  I  have  known  me,  when  I  was 
but  eight,  come  home  to  my  mother 
laden  with  details,  wiien  perhaps  an 
imtrained  girl  of  eighteen  could  only 


have  specified  that  slic  had  gone  up 
and  down  a  tlioronghfare.  Anoth- 
er time  mother  would  take  me  on  a 
visit :  next  day,  or  perhaps  next  week, 
she  woidd  expect  me  to  describe  ev- 
ery article  of  furniture  in  her  friend's 
room,  and  the  books  on  the  table,  and 
repeat  the  conversation,  the  topics  at 
all  events.  Siie  taught  me  to  master 
history  (icrnratehj.  To  do  tliis  she 
was  artful  enougli  to  tmn  sport  into 
science.  Hhe  utilized  a  game:  young 
people  in  15oston  play  it.  A  writes 
an  anecdote  on  jjajjer,  or  ])erha|)s  jiro- 
duces  it  in  print.  She  reads  it  off  to 
B.  B  goes  away,  and  writes  it  down 
by  memory;  then  reads  her  writing 
out  to  C.  C  has  to  listen,  and  convey 
her  imjiression  to  paper.  This  she 
reads  to  D,  and  D  goes  and  writes  it. 
Then  the  original  story  and  D's  ver- 
sion are  conijiared  ;  and,  generally 
speaking,  the  difference  of  tiie  two 
is  a  caution  —  against  oral  tradition. 
Wlien  the  steps  of  deviation  are  ob- 
served, it  is  quite  a  study. 

"  My  mother,  \vith  liergood  wit,  saw 
there  was  something  better  than  fun 
to  be  got  out  of  this.  .Siie  trained  my 
memory  of  great  things  with  it.  She 
began  with  striking  passages  of  histo- 
ry, and  played  tlie  game  with  father 
and  me.  But  as  my  ]»ower  of  retain- 
ing, and  repeating  correctly,  grew  by 
practice,  she  enlarged  the  business,  and 
kept  enriching  my  memory,  so  that  I 
began  to  have  tracts  of  history  at  my 
fingers'  ends.  As  I  grew  older,  she 
extended  the  sport  to  laws  and  the 
great  jniblic  controversies  in  religion, 
politics,  and  pliilosopliy  that  have  ag- 
itated the  world.  i>iit  here  she  had 
to  get  assistance  from  her  learned 
friends.  She  was  a  woman  valued  by 
men  of  intellect,  and  she  had  no  mer- 
cy—  milked  jurists,  ))liysicians,  and 
tlieohjgians,  ami  historians  all  into 
my  little  pail.  To  be  sure,  they  were 
as  kind  aliout  it  as  she  was  unscrupu- 
lous. Tiiey  saw  1  was  a  keen  student, 
and  gave  my  mother  many  a  little 
gem  in  writing.  She  read  them  out 
to   me:    I  listened  hard,  and  thus  I 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


89 


fixed  many  great  and  good  things  in 
my  trained  memory ;  and  repeated 
them  against  tlie  text:  I  was  never 
allowed  to  see  that. 

"With  this  sharp  training,  school 
snbjects  were  child's  ])lay  to  me,  and 
I  won  a  good  many  prizes  very  easily. 
'My  mother  would  not  let  me  waste  a 
single  minute  over  music.  She  used 
to  say  'Music  extracts  what  little 
brains  a  girl  has.  Open  the  piano, 
you  shut  the  understanding.'  I  am 
afraid  I  bore  you  with  my  mother." 

"Not  at  ail,  not  at  all.  I  admire 
her." 

"Oh,  thank  you!  thank  you,  sir! 
She  never  uses  big  words ;  so  it  is 
only  of  late  I  have  had  the  nous  to  see 
how  wise  slie  is.  She  corrected  the 
special  blots  of  the  female  character 
in  me,  and  it  is  sweet  to  me  to  talk 
of  tliat  dear  friend.  What  would  I 
give  to  see  her  here  ! 

"Well,  then,  sir,  she  made  me,  as 
far  as  she  could,  a — what  sliall  I  say  ? 
a  kind  of  little  intellectual  gymnast, 
fit  to  begin  any  study;  but  she  left 
me  to  choose  my  own  line.  Well,  I 
was  for  natural  history  fii'st;  began 
like  a  girl ;  gathered  wild  flowers  and 
simples  at  Epsom,  along  with  an  old 
woman ;  she  discoursed  on  their  tra- 
ditional virtues,  and  knew  little  of 
their  real  jjroperties :  that  I  have  dis- 
covered since. 

"  From  herbs  to  living  things  ;  nev- 
er spared  a  chrysalis,  but  always  took 
it  home,  and  watched  it  break  into 
wings.  Hung  over  the  jjonds  in  Jinie, 
watching  the  eggs  of  the  frog  turn  to 
tadpoles,  and  the  tadpoles  to  ■loinniy 
(Jrapaud.  1  obeyed  Scripture  in  one 
thing,  for  I  studied  tlie  ants  and  their 
ways. 

"  I  collected  birds'  eggs.  At  nine, 
not  a  boy  in  the  parish  coidd  find  more 
nests  in  a  day  than  I  could.  Willi 
birdsnesting,  buying,  and  now  and 
then  begging,  1  made  a  collection  that 
figures  in  a  museum  over  the  watci', 
and  is  entitled  '  Eggsof  Britisli  Hirds.' 
The  colors  attract,  and  people  always 


stop  at  it.  But  it  does  no  justice 
whatever  to  the  great  variety  of  sea- 
birds'  eggs  on  the  coast  of  Britain. 

"When  I  had  learned  what  little 
they  teach  in  schools,  especially  draw- 
ing, and  that  is  useful  in  scientific 
pursuits,  I  was  allowed  to  choose  my 
own  books,  and  attend  lectures.  One 
blessed  day  I  sat  and  listened  to  Agas- 
siz  —  ail!  No  tragedy  well  played, 
nor  opera  sung,  ever  moved  a  heart 
so  deeply  as  he  moved  mine,  that 
great  and  earnest  man,  whose  enthu- 
siasm for  nature  was  as  fresh  as  my 
own,  and  his  knowledge  a  thousand 
times  larger.  Talk  of  heaven  opening 
to  the  Christian  pilgrim  as  he  passes 
Jordan !  Why,  God  made  eartii  as 
well  as  heaven,  and  it  is  worthy  of  the 
Architect ;  and  it  is  a  joy  divine  when 
earth  opens  to  the  true  admirer  of 
God's  works.  Sir,  earth  opened  to 
me,  as  Agassiz  discoursed. 

"I  followed  him  about  like  a  little 
blood-liound,  and  dived  into  the  libra- 
ries after  each  subject  he  treated  or 
touched. 

"  It  was  another  little  epoch  in  my 
life  when  I  read  'White's  Letters  to 
Pennant '  about  natural  history  in  Sel- 
boriie.  Selborne  is  an  English  vil- 
lage, not  half  so  pretty  as  most ;  and, 
until  Gilbert  Wiiite  came,  nobody  saw 
any  thing  there  worth  printing.  His 
book  showed  me  that  the  humblest 
spot  in  nature  becomes  extraordinary 
the  moment  extraordinary  observation 
is  a|)]ilieil  to  it.  I  must  mimic  Gilbert 
Wliite  directly.  I  pestered  my  poor 
parents  to  spend  a  month  or  two  in 
the  depths  of  the  country,  on  the 
verge  of  a  forest.  They  yielded,  with 
groans;  I  kissed  them,  and  we  rusti- 
cated. I  pried  into  every  living  tiling, 
not  forgetting  my  old  friends,  the  in- 
sect tribe.  Here  I  found  ants  witli 
grander  ideas  than  they  have  to  home, 
and  satisfied  myself  they  have  more 
brains  than  ajies.  They  co-operate 
more,  and  in  comiilicated  things.  Sir, 
there  are  ants  that  make  greater 
marches,  for  their  size,  than  Najio- 
Icon's  invasion  of  Russia.     Even  the 


90 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


less  nomad  tribes  will  mnrch  tlirough 
lields  of  grass,  wiicrc  cacli  blade  is  a 
bigh  gum  -  tree  to  them,  and  never 
bxse  the  track.  I  saw  an  army  of  red 
ants,  with  generals,  captains,  and  en- 
signs, start  at  daj'-brcak,  march  across 
a  road,  tliroiigii  .1  hedge,  and  then 
tliroiigli  high  grass  till  noon,  and  sur- 
prise a  fortification  of  black  ants,  and 
take  it  after  a  sanguinary  resistance. 
All  that  nuist  have  been  planned  be- 
forehand, you  know,  and  carried  out 
to  the  letter.  Once  I  found  a  colony 
busy  on  some  hard  ground,  ])reparing 
an  abode.  I  ha])])ened  to  have  been 
miscroscoping  a  wasp,  so  I  tlirew  him 
down  among  the  ants.  'J'iiey  were 
disgusted.  They  ran  about  collecting 
opinions.  Presently  half  of  them 
burrowed  into  tlie  earth  below  and 
undermined  him,  till  he  lay  on  a  crust 
of  earth  as  thin  as  a  wafer,  and  a  deej) 
grave  below.  Then  tliey  all  got  on 
him  except  one,  and  lie  stood  pompous 
on  a  pebble,  and  gave  orders.  The 
earth  broke  —  the  wasp  went  down 
into  his  grave — and  the  ants  soon  cov- 
ered him  witii  loose  earth,  and  re- 
sumed tlieir  domestic  architecture. 
I  concluded  that  though  the  monkey 
resembles  man  most  in  body,  the  ant 
comes  nearer  him  in  mind.  As  for 
dogs,  I  don't  know  where  to  rank 
them  in  luiture,  because  they  have 
been  pupils  of  man  for  centuries.  I 
bore  vou  ?" 

"No." 

"  Oh  yes,  I  do :  an  enthusiast  is  al- 
ways a  bore.  '  Les  facheux,'  of  Mo- 
liere  are  just  enthusiasts.  Well,  sir, 
in  one  word,  I  was  a  natural  jihiloso- 
])her — very  small,  but  earnest ;  and, 
in  due  course,  my  studies  brought  me 
to  the  wonders  of  tlie  human  body. 
I  studied  tlie  outlines  of  anatomy  in 
books,  and  plates,  and  prepared  fig- 
ures ;  and  from  that,  by  degrees,  I 
was  led  on  to  surgery  and  medicine — 
in  books,  you  understand  :  and  tiicy 
are  only  half  the  battle.  Medicine  is 
a  tiling  one  can  do.  It  is  a  noble 
science,  a  practical  science,  and  a  sub- 
tle science,  where  I  tiiought  my  pow- 


ers of  study  and  observation  might 
help  me  to  be  keen  at  reading  symp- 
toms, and  do  good  to  man,  and  be 
a  famous  woman ;  so  I  concluded  to 
benefit  mankind  and  myself.  Stop! 
that  sounds  like  self-deception.  It 
must  have  been  myself  and  mankind 
I  concluded  to  benefit.  Any  way,  I 
pestered  tiiat  small  section  of  mankind 
which  consisted  of  my  ]>arents,  until 
they  consented  to  let  me  study  medi- 
cine in  Europe." 

"What,  all  by  yourself ?" 

"Yes.  Oh,  girls  are  \cyy  independ- 
ent in  the  States,  and  govern  the  old 
people.  Mine  said  '  No  '  a  few  dozen 
times;  but  they  were  bound  to  cud  in 
'  Yes,' and  I  went  to  Zurich.  I  stud- 
ied hard  there,  and  earned  the  ap- 
probation of  the  professors.  But  the 
school  deteriorated  ;  too  many  ladies 
poured  in  from  Russia:  some  were 
not  ill  earnest,  and  preferred  flirting 
to  study,  and  did  themselves  no  good, 
and  made  the  male  students  idle,  and 
wickeder  than  ever — if  possible." 

"What  else  could  you  expect?" 
said  Vizard. 

"  Xotliing  else  from  unpicked  wom- 
en. But  when  all  the  schools  in  Eu- 
rope shall  be  open — .is  they  ought  to 
be,  and  must,  and  shall  —  there  will 
be  no  danger  of  shallow  girls  crowd- 
ing to  any  ])articular  scliool.  Besides, 
there  will  be  a  more  strict  and  rapid 
routine  of  e.xamination  then  to  sift 
out  the  female  llirts — and  the  male 
dunces  along  with  them,  I  hope. 

"Well,  sir,  we  few,  that  really 
meant  medicine,  made  in<|uiries,  and 
heard  of  a  famous  old  school  in  the 
South  of  France,  where  women  had 
graduated  of  old  ;  and  two  of  us  went 
tiiere  to  try — an  Italian  lady  and  my- 
self. We  carried  good  testimonials 
from  Zurich,  and,  not  to  frighten  the 
Frenchmen  at  starting,  I  attacked 
tiiem  alone.  Cornelia  was  my  elder, 
and  my  superior  in  attainments.  She 
was  a  true  descendant  of  those  learned 
ladies  wlio  have  adorned  the  chairs 
of  pliilosoi>hy,  jurisprudence,  anato- 
my, and  medicine  in  lier  native  coun- 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


91 


try;  but  she  has  the  wisdom  of  the 
serpent,  as  well  as  of  the  sage ;  and 
she  put  me  forward  because  of  my  red 
hair.  She  said  that  would  be  a  pass- 
port to  the  dark  philosophers  of 
France. " 

"Was  not  that  rather  foxy,  IMiss 
Gale  ?" 

"Foxv  as  my  hair  itself,  Mr.  Viz- 
ard." 

"Well,  I  applied  to  a  professor. 
He  received  me  with  profound  courte- 
sy and  feigned  respect,  but  was  stag- 
gered at  my  request  to  matriculate. 
lie  gesticulated  and  bowed  a  la  Fran- 
fuise,  and  begged  tiie  permission  of 
liis  foxy- haired  invader  from  North- 
ern climes  to  consult  his  colleagues. 
Would  I  do  him  the  great  honor  to 
call  again  next  day  at  twelve  ?  I  did, 
and  met  three  other  polished  authori- 
ties. Une  spoke  for  all,  and  said.  If 
I  had  not  brought  with  me  proofs  of 
serious  study,  they  should  have  dis- 
suaded me  very  earnestly  from  a  sci- 
ence I  could  not  graduate  in  without  go- 
ing through  ])ractical  courses  of  anat- 
omy and  clinical  surgery.  That,  liow- 
ever  (with  a  regular  French  shrug), 
was  my  business,  not  theirs.  It  was 
not  for  them  to  teach  me  delicacy,  but 
rather  to  learn  it  from  me.  That  was 
a  French  sneer.  The  French  are  ^ln 
gens  moqueur,  you  know.  I  received 
both  shrug  and  sneer  like  marble.  He 
ended  it  all  by  saying  the  school  had 
no  written  law  excluding  doctresses  ; 
and  the  old  records  jiroved  women 
had  graduated,  and  even  lectured, 
there.  I  had  only  to  pay  my  fees, 
and  enter  upon  my  roiUine  of  studies. 
So  I  was  admitted  on  sufferance;  but 
I  soon  earned  tlie  good  opinion  of  the 
professors,  and  of  tliis  one  in  partic- 
ular ;  and  tlicn  C'ornelia  applied  iov 
admission,  and  was  let  in  too.  We 
lived  together,  and  had  no  secrets; 
and  I  think,  sir,  I  may  venture  to  say 
that  we  showed  some  little  wisdom,  if 
you  consider  our  age,  and  all  that  was 
done  to  spoil  us.  As  to  parrying  their 
little  sly  attempts  at  flirtation,  tiiat  is 
nothing ;    we   came   prepared.     But, 


when  our  fellow -students  found  we 
were  in  earnest,  and  had  high  views, 
the  chivalrous  spirit  of  a  gallant  na- 
tion took  fire,  and  they  treated  us  with 
a  delicate  reverence  that  might  have 
turned  any  woman's  head.  But  we 
had  the  credit  of  a  sneered-at  sex  to 
keep  up,  and  felt  our  danger,  and 
warned  each  other ;  and  I  remember 
I  told  Cornelia  how  many  young  la- 
dies in  the  States  I  had  seen  puffed  up 
by  the  men's  extravagant  homage, 
and  become  spoiled  children,  and  of- 
fensively arrogant  and  discourteous ; 
so  I  entreated  her  to  check  those  vices 
in  me  the  moment  she  saw  them  com- 
ing. 

"When  we  had  been  here  a  year, 
attending  all  the  lectures  —  clinical 
medicine  and  surgery  included — news 
came  that  one  British  school,  Edin- 
burgh, had  shown  symptoms  of  yield- 
ing to  continental  civilization,  and  re- 
laxing monopoly.  That  turned  me 
North  directly.  IMy  mother  is  En- 
glish :  I  wanted  to  be  a  British  doc- 
tress,  not  a  French.  Cornelia  had 
misgivings,  and  even  condescended  to 
cry  over  me.  But  I  am  a  mule,  and 
always  was.  Then  that  dear  friend 
made  terms  with  me:  I  must  not 
break  off  my  connection  with  the 
French  school,  she  said.  No  ;  she  had 
thought  it  well  over ;  I  nuist  ask  leave 
of  the  French  professors  to  study  in 
the  North,  and  bring  back  notes  about 
those  distant  Tinilians.  Says  she, 
'  Your  stiulies  in  that  savage  island 
will  be  allowed  to  go  for  something 
here,  if  you  improve  your  time — and 
you  will  be  siu'e  to,  sweetheart — that 
I  may  be  always  proud  of  you.'  Dear 
Cornelia!" 

"Am  I  to  believe  all  this?"  said 
Vizard.  "Can  women  be  such  true 
friends  ?" 

' '  Wiiat  can  not  women  be  ?  What ! 
are  you  one  of  those  who  take  us  for 
a  clique  ?  Don't  you  know  more 
than  half  mankind  are  women  ?" 

"Alas!" 

"Alas  for  them!"  said  Rhodn, 
sharply. 


92 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


"Well,  well,"  said  Vizard,  putting 
on  sudden  humility,  "don't  let  us 
quarrel.  I  Iiate  quarreling — where  I'm 
sure  to  get  the  worst.  Ay,  friendship 
is  a  fine  thing,  in  men  or  women  ;  a 
far  nobler  sentiment  than  love.  You 
will  not  admit  tiiat,  of  course,  being  a 
woman." 

"  Oh  yes,  I  will,"  said  she.  "  Wiiy, 
I  have  observed  love  attentively  ;  and 
I  pronounce  it  a  fever  of  tiie  mind. 
It  disturbs  the  judgment  and  j)erverls 
I  lie  conscience.  Yon  side  with  the 
beloved,  right  or  wrong.  What  per- 
sonal degradation  !  I  observe,  too, 
that  a  grand  ])assion  is  a  grand  mis- 
fortune ;  they  are  always  in  a  storm 
of  ho])e,  fears,  doubt,  jealousy,  rapt- 
ure, rage,  and  the  end  deceit,  or  else 
satiety.  Friendship  is  steady  and 
peaceful ;  not  much  jealousy,  no  heart- 
burnings. It  strengthens  with  time, 
and  survives  the  small-pox  and  a  wood- 
en leg.  It  doubles  our  joys,  and  di- 
vides our  grief,  and  lights  and  warms 
our  lives  with  a  steady  flame.  Solem 
e  mundo  tollunt,  qui  tollunt  amici- 
tiam." 

"Halloo !"  cried  Vizard.  "  What ! 
you  know  Latin  too?" 

"  Why,  of  course  —  a  smattering; 
or  how  could  I  read  Fliny,  and  Cclsus, 
and  ever  so  much  more  rubbish  that 
custom  chucks  down  before  the  gates 
of  knowledge,  and  says,  '  There — be- 
fore you  go  the  right  road,  you  ought 
to  go  the  wrong ;  it  is  usual.  Study 
now,  with  the  reverence  they  don't 
deserve,  the  non-observers  of  antiqui- 
ty-' " 

"Spare    me    the    ancients.    Miss 

Gale,"  said  Vizard,  "an<l  reveal  me 
the  girl  of  the  jieriod.  When  I  was 
so  ill-bred  as  to  interrupt  you,  you 
had  left  France,  crowned  with  laurels, 
and  were  just  invading  Britain." 

Something  in  his  words  or  his  tone 
discouraged  the  subtle  observer,  and 
she  said,  coldly,  "  K.xcuse  me :  I  have 
liardly  tiie  courage.  INIy  British  his- 
tory is  a  tale  of  injustice,  suffering, 
insult,  and,  worst  of  all,  defeat.  I 
can  not  i)romise  to  relate  it  with  that 


composure  whoever  pretends  to   sci- 
ence ought :  the  wound  still  bleeds." 

Then  Vizard  was  vexed  with  him- 
self, and  looked  grave  and  concerned. 
He  said,  gently,  "  Miss  Gale,  I  am 
sorry  to  give  you  pain  ;  but  what  you 
have  told  me  is  so  new  and  interest- 
ing, I  shall  be  disappointed  if  you 
withhold  the  rest :  besides,  you  know 
it  gives  no  lasting  pain  to  relate  our 
griefs.  Come,  come — be  brave,  and 
tell  me." 

"Well,  I  will,"  said  she.  "In- 
deed, some  instinct  moves  me.  Good 
may  come  of  my  telling  it  you.  I 
thiidc — somehow — vouare — a — ^just — 
man." 

In  the  act  of  saying  this,  she  fixed 
her  gray  eyes  steadily  and  searching- 
ly  upon  Vizard's  face,  so  that  he  could 
scarcely  meet  them,  they  were  so  pow- 
erful ;  then,  suddenly,  the  observation 
seemed  to  die  out  of  them,  and  reflec- 
tion to  take  its  jilace  :  those  darting 
eyes  were  turned  inward.  It  was  a 
marked  variety  of  power.  There  was 
something  wizard-like  in  the  vividness 
with  which  two  distinct  mental  proc- 
esses were  j)resented  by  the  varied 
action  of  a  single  organ:  and  Vizard 
then  began  to  suspect  that  a  creature 
stood  before  him  with  a  j)ower  of  dis- 
cerning and  digesting  truth,  such  as 
he  had  not  yet  encountered  either  in 
man  or  woman.  She  entered  on  her 
British  adventures  in  her  clear  silvery 
voice.  It  was  not,  like  Ina  Klosking's, 
rich,  and  deep,  and  tender;  yet  it  had 
a  certain  gentle  beauty  to  those  who 
love  truth,  because  it  was  dispassion- 
ate, yet  expressive,  and  cool,  yet  not 
cold.  One  might  call  it  truth's  silver 
trinnpet. 

On  the  brink  of  an  extraordinary 
passage,  I  pause  to  make  no  fewer  than 
three  remarks  in  my  own  person  :  1st. 
Let  no  reader  of  mine  allow  himself 
to  fancy  Khoda  Gale  and  her  ante- 
cedents are  a  mere  excrescence  of  my 
story.  She  was  rooted  to  it  even  be- 
fore the  first  scene  of  it — the  meeting 
of  Ashmead  and  the  Klogking — and 
tliis  will  soon  appear.    2d.  She  is  now 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


93 


going  into  a  controverted  matter ;  and, 
though  she  is  sincere  and  tnithful,  she 
is  of  necessity  a  partisan.  Do  not 
take  her  for  a  judge.  You  be  the 
judge.  3d.  But,  as  a  judge  never 
shuts  his  mind  to  either  side,  do  not 
lefuse  her  a  fair  hearing.  Above  all, 
do  not  underrate  the  question.  Let 
not  the  balance  of  your  understand- 
ing be  so  upset  by  ephemeral  childish- 
ness as  to  fancy  that  it  matters  much 
whether  you  break  an  egg  top  or  bot- 
tom, because  Gulliver's  two  nations 
went  to  war  about  it ;  or  that  it  mat- 
ters much  whether  your  queen  is  call- 
ed Queen  of  India  or  Empress,  be- 
cause two  parties  made  a  noise  about 
it,  and  the  country  has  wasted  ten 
thousand  square  miles  of  good  paper 
on  the  subject,  trivial  as  the  dust  on  a 
butterfly's  wing.  Fight  against  these 
illusions  of  petty  and  ephemeral  minds. 
It  does  not  matter  the  millionth  of  a 
straw  to  mankind  whether  any  one 
woman  is  called  Queen,  or  Empress, 
of  India ;  and  it  matters  greatly  to 
mankind  whether  the  whole  race  of 
women  are  to  be  allowed  to  study 
medicine  and  practice  it,  if  they  can 
rival  the  male,  or  are  to  be  debarred 
from  testing  their  scientific  ability,  and 
so  outlawed,  though  taxed,  in  defiance 
of  British  liberty,  and  all  justice,  hu- 
man and  divine,  by  elevcti  hundred 
lawgivers — most  of  'em  fools. 


CHAPTER  Xlir. 

"When  I  reached  Great  Britain, 
the  right  of  women  to  medicine  was 
in  this  condition  —  a  learned  lawyer 
explained  it  carefully  to  me.  I  will 
give  you  his  words:  Tiic  unwritten 
law  of  every  nation  admits  all  man- 
kind, and  not  the  male  half  only,  to 
the  study  and  ])ractice  of  medicine 
and  the  sale  of  drugs.  In  Great  Brit- 
ain this  law  is  called  the  common  law, 
and  is  deeply  respected.  Whatever 
liberty  it  allows  to  men  or  women  is 
held  sacred  in  our  courts,  unlil  direct- 


ly and  explicitly  withdrawn  by  some 
act  of  the  Legislature.     Under  this 
ancient  liberty,  women  have  occasion- 
ally practiced  general  medicine  and 
surgery  up  to  the  year  ISoS.     But 
for    centuries    they    inonopoUzed,   by 
custom,  one  branch  of  practice,  the 
obstetric ;  and  that,  together  with  the 
occasional  treatment  of  children,  and 
the  nursing  of  both  sexes,  which  is 
semi-medical,  and  is  their  monopoly, 
seems,  on  the  whole,  to  have  content- 
ed them,  till  late  years,  when  their 
views  were  enlarged  by  wider  educa- 
tion, and  other  causes.     But  their  ab- 
stinence  from  general  practice,  like 
their  monopoly  of  obstetrics,  lay  with 
women  themselves,  and  not  with  the 
law  of  England.     That   law   is   the 
same  in  this  respect  as  the  common 
law   of  Italy  and  France ;   and  the 
constitution    of    Bologna,    where    so 
many  doctresses  have  filled  the  chairs 
of  medicine  and  other  sciences,  makes 
no  more  direct  provision  for  female 
students  than  does  the  constitution  of 
any  Scotch  or  English   university. — • 
Tiie  whole  thing  lay  with  the  women 
themselves,  and  with  local  civilization. 
Years  ago,  Italy  was  far  more  civil- 
ized than  England ;  so  Italian  wom- 
en took  a  large  sphere.     Of  late  tiie 
Anglo-Saxon  has  gone  in  for  civiliza- 
tion with    his   usual   energy,  and  is 
eclipsing  Italy;  therefore  his  women 
as])ire   to  larger  spheres  of  intellect 
and  action,  beginning  in  the  States, 
because  American  women  arc  better 
educated  than  English.     Tiic  advance 
of  woinrn  in  useful  attainments  is  the 
most  infallible  sign  in  any  country  of 
advancing  civilization.     All  this  about 
civilization  is  my  observation,  sir,  and 
not  the  lawyer's.     Now  for  the  law- 
yer  again  :    Such   being   the  law  of 
England,  the  Uritisii  Legislature  pass- 
ed an  act  in  IS.'iS,  the  real  object  of 
which  was  to  protect  the  ])ublic  against 
incapable  doctors,  not  against  capable 
doctresses  or  doctors.     The  act  ex- 
cludes from  medical  practice  all  per- 
sons whatever,  male  or  female,  unless 
I  registered  in  a  certain  register ;  and 


94 


A  WOMAN-IIATEU. 


to  get  upon  that  vof;ister,  the  pei'son, 
male  or  female,  must  produce  a  li- 
cense or  (lipl(una,  f^vanted  by  one  of 
the  JJiitish  exanihiiiig  boards  sjiccified 
in  Ji  schedule  attached  to  tlie  act. 

"  Now,  these  examining  boards  were 
all  members  of  the  leading  medical 
schools.  If  the  Legislature  had  taken 
the  usual  precaution,  and  had  added 
a  clause  com/)e//inf/  those  boards  to 
examine  worthy  applicants,  the  act 
would  have  been  a  sound  public  meas- 
ure ;  but  for  want  of  that  foresight — 
and  without  foresigtit  a  lawgiver  is  an 
impostor  and  a  public  pest — the  State 
robbed  women  of  their  old  common- 
law  rights  with  one  haiul,  and  with 
the  other  enabled  a  I'cspectable  trades- 
union  to  thrust  them  out  of  their  new 
statutory  rights.  Unfortunately,  the 
respectable  union,  to  whom  the  Legis- 
lature delegated  an  unconstitutional 
power  they  did  not  claim  themselves, 
of  excluding  qualified  persons  from 
examination,  and  so  robbing  them  of 
their  license  and  their  bread,  had  an 
overpowering  interest  to  exclude  qual- 
ified women  from  medicine.  They 
had  tlie  same  interest  as  the  watch- 
makers' union,  the  printers",  the  paint- 
ers' on  china,  the  calico -engravers', 
and  others  have  to  exclude  qualified 
women  from  those  branches,  thougli 
peculiarly  fitted  for  them  ;  but  not 
more  so  than  they  are  for  the  practice 
of  medicine,  God  having  made  i/tetn, 
and  not  7iien,  the  U)edical,  and  unmu- 
sical, se.x. 

"  Wherever  there's  a  trades-union, 
the  weakest  go  to  the  wall.  Those 
vulgar  unions  I  have  mentioned  ex- 
clude women  from  skilled  labor  they 
excel  in,  by  violence  and  conspiracy, 
tJiongh  the  law  threatens  them  with 
imprisonment  for  it.  Was  it  in  nat- 
ure, then,  that  the  medical  union 
Mould  be  infinitely  forbearing,  when 
the  Legislature  went  and  jiatted  it  on 
the  back,  and  said,  you  can  conspire 
with  safety  against  your  female  rivals. 
Of  course  the  cliciue  were  tempted 
more  than  any  clif[uc  coidd  hear  by 
the    uu wariness   of  the   liegislature, 


and  closed  the  doors  of  the  medical 
schools  to  female  applicants.  Against 
unqualified  female  ])ractitioners  they 
never  acted  with  such  zeal  and  con- 
sent ;  and  why  ?  The  female  quack 
is  a  ])ublic  pest,  and  a  good  foil  to  the 
imion  ;  the  (jualified  doctress  is  a  pub- 
lic good,  and  a  blow  to  the  union. 

"The  British  medical  utnon  was 
now  in  a  fine  attitude  by  act  of  Par- 
liament. It  could  talk  its  contempt 
of  medical  women,  and  act  its  terror 
of  them,  and  keep  both  its  feigned 
contempt  and  its  real  alarm  safe  from 
the  test  of  a  public  examination — that 
crucible  in  which  cant,  surmise,  and 
mendacity  are  soon  evaporated  or 
precipitated,  and  only  the  truth  stands 
firm. 

"  For  all  that,  two  female  practi- 
tioners got  upon  the  register,  and 
stand  out,  living  landmarks  of  expe- 
rience and  the  truth,  in  the  dead  wil- 
derness of  stuniise  and  i)rejudicc. 

"I  will  tell  you  how  tiiey  got  in. 
The  act  of  Parliament  makes  two  ex- 
cejUions  :  lirst,  it  lets  in,  without  ex- 
amination— and  that  is  very  unwise — 
any  foreign  doctor  who  shall  be  prac- 
ticing in  England  at  the  date  of  the 
act,  althougii,  with  equal  incapacity, 
it  omits  to  provide  that  any  future 
foreign  doctor  shall  be  able  to  demand 
examination  (in  with  the  old  foreign 
fogies,  blin(H\)ld,  right  or  wrong;  out 
with  the  rising  foreign  liuniiraries  of 
an  ever -advancing  science,  right  or 
wrong);  and,  seconilly,  it  lets  in,  with- 
out examination,  to  experiment  on 
the  vile  body  of  the  public,  any  per- 
son, qualified  or  unqinilified,  who  may 
have  l)een  made  a  doctor  by  a  very 
venerable  and  equally  irrelevant  func- 
tionary. Guess,  now,  who  it  is  that 
a  British  Parliament  sets  above  the 
law,  as  a  doctor-maker  for  that  pub- 
lic it  professes  to  love  and  protect  1" 

"The  Kegius  Professor  of  ^ledi- 
cine?" 

"No." 

"Tvndall?" 

"No." 

"Iluxlev?" 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


95 


"No." 

"Then  I  give  it  up." 

"The  Arclihishop  of  Cantevbury." 

"  Oh,  come !   a  joke  is  a  joke." 

"This  is  no  joke.  Bright  monu- 
ment of  Biitisli  Hunkeyism  and  imbe- 
cility, there  stands  the  chiuse  setting 
that  reverend  and  irrelevant  doctor- 
maker  above  tlie  law,  which  sets  his 
grace's  female  relations  below  the 
law,  and,  in  practice,  outlaws  tlie 
whole  female  population,  starving 
those  who  desire  to  practice  medicine 
learnedly,  and  oppressing  those  who, 
out  of  modesty,  not  yet  quite  smoth- 
ered by  custom  and  monopoly,  desire 
to  consult  a  learned  female  physician, 
instead  of  being  driven,  like  sheep,  by 
iron  tyranny — in  a  country  that  bab- 
bles Liberty — to  a  male  pliysician  or 
a  female  quack. 

"  Well,  sir,  in  1840  Miss  Elizabeth 
]?lackwell  fought  the  good  figlit  in 
the  United  States,  and  had  her  trou- 
bles ;  because  the  States  were  not  so 
civilized  tiien  as  now.  Slie  gradu- 
ated doctor  at  Geneva,  in  tiie  State 
of  New  York. 

"She  was  practicing  in  England 
in  1858,  and  demanded  her  place  on 
the  register.  She  is  an  EngHsliwom- 
an  by  birth ;  but  she  is  an  English 
M.D.  only  through  America  having 
more  brains  than  Britain.  This  one 
islander  sings,  '  Hail,  tJohimbia!'  as 
often  as  '  God  save  the  (iiieen !'  I 
reckon. 

"Miss  Garrett,  an  enthusiastic  stu- 
dent, traveled  nortli,  south,  cast,  and 
west,  and  knocked  in  vain  at  the 
doors  of  every  great  school  and  uni- 
versity in  Britain,  but  at  last  foimd  a 
chink  in  the  iron  shutters  of  tlie  Lon- 
don Apothecaries'.  It  seems  Parlia- 
ment was  wiser  in  1815  than  in  18.58, 
for  it  inserted  a  clause  in  the  Ajxjthe- 
caries  Act  of  IS  15  rompclliwj  them 
to  examine  ail  persons  who  should 
apply  to  them  for  examination  after 
])roper  courses  of  study.  Their  char- 
ter contained  no  loop-hole  to  evade 
the  act,  and  substitute  '  him '  for  'per- 
son ;'  so  they  let  Miss  Garrett  in  as  a 


student.  Like  all  the  students,  slie 
had  to  attend  lectures  on  chenii-.jtry, 
botany,  materia  niedica,  zoology,  nat- 
ural philosophy,  and  clinical  surgery. 
In  the  collateral  subjects  they  let  her 
sit  with  the  male  students ;  but  in 
anatomy  and  surgery  she  had  to  at- 
tend the  same  lectures  privately, 
and  pay  for  lectures  all  to  herself. 
This  cost  her  enormous  fees.  How- 
ever, it  is  only  fair  to  say  that,  if  she 
had  been  one  of  a  dozen  female  stu- 
dents, the  fees  would  have  been  dif- 
fused ;  as  it  was,  she  had  to  gild  the 
pill  out  of  her  ])rivate  purse. 

"In  the  hospital  teaching  she 
met  difficulties  and  discouragement, 
though  she  asked  for  no  more  oppor- 
tunities than  are  granted  readily  to 
professional  nurses  and  female  ama- 
teurs. But  the  whole  thing  is  a  mere 
money  question ;  that  is  the  key  to 
every  lock  in  it. 

"She  was  freely  admitted  at  last 
to  one  great  hospital,  and  all  went 
smoothly  till  some  surgeon  examined 
the  students  viva  voce;  then  Miss 
Garrett  was  oft'  her  guard,  and  dis- 
played too  marked  a  superiority ; 
thereupon  the  male  students  played 
the  woman,  and  begged  she  might  be 
excluded  ;  and,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  for 
the  credit  of  your  sex,  this  unmanly 
request  was  complied  with  by  the 
womanish  males  in  ])ower. 

"  However,  at  her  next  hospital. 
Miss  Garrett  was  more  discreet,  and 
took  pains  to  conceal  her  galling  su- 
periority. 

"All  her  trouble  ended  —  where 
her  competitors'  began — at  the  pub- 
lic examination.  She  passed  brill- 
iantly, and  is  an  English  apothecary. 
In  civilized  France  she  is  a  learned 
physician. 

"She  had  not  been  an  apothecary 
a  week,  l)efore  tiie  Apothecaries'  So- 
ciety received  six  hundred  letters  from 
the  medical  small -fry  in  town  and 
country;  they  threatened  to  send  no 
more  boys  to  the  Apothecaries',  but 
to  the  College  of  Surgeons,  if  ever 
another  woman  received  an  apothe- 


96 


A  WUMAN-IIATER. 


cary's  license.  Now,  you  know,  all 
men  tremble  in  England  at  tlie  tin-eats 
of  a  trades-union;  so  tlie  apotliecaries 
instantly  cudgeled  their  brains  to  find 
a  way  to  disobey  tiie  law,  and  obey 
the  union.  Tlie  medical  press  gave 
them  a  hint,  and  they  passed  a  by- 
law, forbidding  their  students  to  re- 
ceive any  part  of  tlieir  education  pri- 
vateli/,  and  made  it  known,  at  the 
same  time,  that  their  female  students 
would  not  be  allowed  to  study  the 
leading  subjects  puljliclij.  And  so 
tiiey  iiafflcd  the  Legislature,  and  out- 
lawed half  the  nation,  by  a  juggle 
which  tiie  press  and  the  ))ublic  would 
have  risen  against,  if  a  single  grown- 
up man  bad  been  its  victim,  instead 
of  four  million  adult  women.  Now, 
you  are  a  straightforward  man  ;  what 
do  you  think  of  that  ?" 

"Humph!"  said  Vizard.  "I  do 
not  altogether  approve  it.  The  strong 
should  not  use  the  arts  of  the  weak 
in  fighting  the  weak.  Eut,  in  si)ite 
of  your  eloquence,  I  mean  to  forgive 
them  any  tiling.  Shakspeare  has 
provided  them  with  an  excuse  that 
fits  all  time : 

"  '  Our  poverty,  but  not  our  will,  con- 
gents.'  " 

"Poverty!  the  poverty  of  a  com- 
pany in  the  city  of  London  !  Allons 
done.  Well,  sir,  for  years  after  this 
all  Kurope,  even  Russia,  advanced  in 
civilization,  and  opened  their  medical 
schools  to  women  ;  so  did  tiie  United 
States:  only  the  pig-headed  Briton 
stood  stock-still,  and  gloried  in  his 
minority  of  one ;  as  if  one  small  isl- 
and is  likely  to  be  riglit  in  its  mono- 
mania, and  all  civilized  nations  wrong. 

"JJut  while  I  was  studying  in 
France,  one  lion-hearted  English- 
woman was  moving  our  native  isle. 
First  slie  tried  the  University  of  Lon- 
don ;  and  that  sets  up  for  a  liberal 
foundation.  Answer — 'Our  charter 
is  expressly  framed  to  exclude  wom- 
en from  medical  instruction.' 

Then  she  sat  down  to  besiege 
Edinburgh.      Now,  Edinbmgh    is    a 


very  remarkable  place.  It  has  only 
half  the  houses,  but  ten  times  the  in- 
tellect, of  Liverpool  or  jManchestcr. 
And  the  university  has  two  advan- 
tages as  a  home  of  science  over  the 
English  universities :  it  is  far  behind 
them  in  Greek,  which  is  the  language 
of  error  and  nescience,  and  before 
them  in  English,  and  that  is  a  tongue 
a  good  deal  of  knowledge  is  printed 
in.  Edinburgh  is  the  only  centre  of 
British  literatin-e,  except  London. 

"One  medical  professor  received 
the  pioneer  with  a  concise  severity, 
and  declined  to  hear  her  plead  her 
cause,  and  one  received  her  almost 
brutally.  He  said,  '  No  respectable 
woman  would  apply  to  him  to  study 
medicine.'  Now,  respectable  women 
were  studying  it  all  over  Europe." 

"Well,  but  perhaps  his  soul  lived 
in  an  island." 

"That  is  so.  However,  personal 
ap])licants  must  expect  a  rub  or  two ; 
and  most  of  the  professors,  in  and  out 
of  medicine,  treated  her  with  kindness 
and  courtesy. 

"Still,  she  found  even  the  friend- 
ly professors  alarmed  at  the  idea  of  a 
woman  matriculating,  and  becoming 
Civis  Edinensis ;  so  she  made  a  mod- 
erate application  to  tlie  Senate,  viz., 
for  leave  to  attend  medical  lectures. 
This  request  was  indorsed  by  a  major- 
ity of  the  medical  professors,  and 
granted.  But  on  the  appeal  of  a  few 
medical  professors  against  it,  the  Sen- 
ate suspended  its  resolution,  on  the 
ground  that  there  was  only  one  ap- 
j)licant. 

"This  got  wind,  and  other  ladies 
came  into  the  field  directly,  your 
humble  servant  among  them.  Then 
the  Senate  felt  bound  to  recommend 
the  University  Court  to  admit  such 
female  students  to  matriculate  as 
could  pass  the  preliminary  examina- 
tion ;  this  is  in  history,  logic,  lan- 
guages, and  other  branches ;  and  wc 
jnejjared  for  it  in  good  faith.  It  was 
a  hajipy  time :  after  a  good  day  s 
work,  I  used  to  go  up  the  Calton 
Hill,  or  Arthur's  Seat,  and  view  the 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


97 


sea,  and  the  Pira3us,  and  the  violet 
hills,  and  the  romantic  undulations 
of  tlie  city  itself,  and  my  heart  glow- 
ed with  love  of  knowledge,  and  with 
honorable  ambition.  I  ran  over  the 
names  of  worthy  women  who  had 
adorned  medicine  at  sundry  times 
and  in  divers  places,  and  resolved  to 
deserve  as  great  a  name  as  any  in 
history.  Refreshed  by  my  walk  —  I 
generally  walked  eight  miles,  and 
practiced  gymnastics  to  keep  my 
muscles  hard  —  I  used  to  return  to 
my  little  lodgings ;  and  tliey  too 
were  sweet  to  me,  for  I  was  learning 
a  new  science — logic." 

"  That  was  a  nut  to  crack." 

"I  have  met  few  easier  or  sweeter. 
One  non-observer  had  told  me  it  was 
a  sham  science,  and  mere  pedantry  ; 
another,  that  it  pretended  to  show 
men  a  way  to  truth  without  observ- 
ing. I  found,  on  the  contrary,  that 
it  was  a  very  ]>retty  little  science, 
which  does  not  affect  to  discover  phe- 
nomena, but  simply  to  guard  men 
against  rash  generalization,  and  false 
deductions  from  true  data.  It  taught 
me  the  untrained  world  is  brimful  of 
fallacies  and  verbal  equivoques  tiiat 
ought  not  to  puzzle  a  ciiild,  but, 
whenever  they  creep  into  an  argu- 
ment, do  actually  confountl  the  learn- 
ed and  the  simple  alike,  and  all  for 
want  of  a  month's  logic. 

"  Yes,  I  was  happy  on  the  hill,  and 
happy  by  the  hearlli;  and  so  tilings 
went  on  till  the  preliminary  examina- 
tion came.  It  was  not  severe ;  we 
ladies  all  passed  with  credit,  though 
many  of  the  male  aspirants  failed." 

"How  do  you  account  for  that?" 
asked  Vizard. 

"With  my  eyes.  I  observe  that 
the  average  male  is  very  superior  in 
intellect  to  the  average  female ;  and 
I  observe  that  the  picked  female  is 
immeasurably  more  sujierior  to  the 
average  male,  than  the  average  male 
is  to  tlie  average  female. " 

"Is  it  so  simple  as  that?" 

"Ay;  why  not?  What!  are  yon 
one  of  those  who  believe  that  Truth 


is  obscure — hides  herself — and  lies  in 
a  well  ?  I  tell  you,  sir.  Truth  lies  in 
no  well.  Tiie  jjlace  Truth  lies  in  is — 
the  middle  of  the  turnpike-road.  But 
one  old  fogy  puts  on  his  green  specta- 
cles to  look  for  her,  and  another  his 
red,  and  another  his  blue ;  and  so 
they  all  miss  her,  because  she  is  a 
colorless  diamond.  Those  spectacles 
are  preconceived  notions,  a  priori 
reasoning,  cant,  prejudice,  the  depth 
of  j\Ir.  Shallow's  inner  consciousness, 
etc.,  etc.  Then  comes  the  observer, 
opens  the  eyes  that  God  has  given 
him,  tramples  on  all  colored  specta- 
cles, and  finds  Truth  as  surely  as  the 
spectacled  theorists  miss  her.  Say 
that  the  intellect  of  the  average  male 
is  to  the  average  female  as  ten  to  six, 
it  is  to  the  intellect  of  the  picked  fe- 
male as  ten  to  a  hundred  and  fifty,  or 
even  less.  Now,  the  intellect  of  the 
male  Edinburgh  student  was  much 
above  that  of  tiie  average  male,  but 
still  it  fell  far  below  that  of  the  pick- 
ed female.  All  the  examinations  at 
Edinburgh  showed  this  to  all  God's 
unspectacled  creatures  that  used  their 
eyes." 

These  remarks  hit  Vizard  hard. 
They  accorded  with  his  own  good 
sense  and  method  of  arguing ;  but 
])eiha])s  my  more  careful  readers  may 
have  already  observed  this.  He  nod- 
ded hearty  approval  for  once,  and  she 
went  on : 

"  We  had  now  a  right  to  matricu- 
late, and  enter  on  our  medical  course. 
But,  to  our  dismay,  the  right  was  sus- 
pended. The  proofs  of  our  gener- 
al proficiency,  which  we  hoped  would 
reconcile  the  professors  to  us  as  stu- 
dents of  medicine,  alarmed  peo])le, 
and  raised  us  unscrupulous  enemies 
in  some  who  were  justly  resjiected, 
and  others  who  had  infiuence,  though 
they  hardly  deserved  it. 

"  A  general  council  of  the  uni- 
versity was  called  to  reconsider  the 
])ledge  the  Senate  had  given  ns,  nnd 
overawe  the  university  court  by  the 
weight  of  academic  opinion.  The 
court  itself  was  lluctuating,  and  ready 


98 


A  WOxMAN-lIATEU. 


to  turn  either  way.  A  large  miniber 
of  mule  stiicients  co-opcriUed  ayaiiist 
us  witli  a  petition,  'i'liey,  too,  were 
u  little  vexed  at  our  respectahle  fig- 
ure in  the  jireiiminary  examination. 

"The  assembly  met,  and  the  union 
orator  got  up ;  he  was  a  ])reacher  of 
the  Gospel,  and  carried  the  weiglit  of 
that  ollice.  Ciiristianity,  as  well  as 
science,  seemed  to  rise  against  us  in 
his  i)crson.  He  made  a  long  and  el- 
oquent speech,  based  on  the  intelli- 
gent surmises  and  popular  prejudices 
that  were  diffused  in  a  lunidred  lead- 
ing articles,  and  in  letters  to  the  ed- 
itor by  men  and  women,  to  whom  his- 
tory was  a  dead  letter  in  modern  con- 
troversies ;  for  the  Press  battled  this 
matter  for  two  years,  and  furnished 
each  party  w-ith  an  artillery  of  rea- 
sons, pro  and  con. 

"  He  said,  'Woman's  sphere  is  the 
hearth  and  the  home:  to  impair  her 
delicacy  is  to  take  the  liloom  from  the 
peach  :  slie  could  not  qualify  ft)r  med- 
icine without  mastering  anatomy  and 
surgery  —  branches  that  must  unsex 
her.  Providence,  intending  her  to 
be  man's  helpmate,  not  liis  lival,  had 
given  her  a  body  unfit  for  war  or 
hard  labor,  and  a  brain  four  ounces 
lighter  tlian  a  man's,  and  unable  to 
cope  with  long  study  and  practical 
science.  In  siiort,  she  was  too  good, 
and  too  stupid,  for  medicine.' 

"  It  was  eloquent,  but  it  was  a  pri- 
ori reasoning,  and  conjecture  versus 
evidence :  yet  the  apy)lause  it  met 
with  siiowed  one  how  happy  is  the  or- 
ator 'qui  hiirle  avec  les  loups. '  'I'ak- 
ing  the  scientific  preacher's  whole  the- 
ory in  theology  and  science,  woman 
was  high  enough  in  creation  to  bo  the 
mother  of  God,  but  not  higii  enough 
to  be  a  sawbones. 

"Well,  a  professor  of  he.Jles-Ie.ttres 
rose  on  om-  side,  not  with  a  rival  the- 
ory, but  witli  facts.  He  was  a  pujiil 
of  Lord  Bacon,  and  a  man  of  the 
nineteenth  century ;  so  he  objected 
to  a  priori  reasoning  on  a  matter  of 
experience.  To  settle  the  question 
of  capacity  he  gave   a   long  list   of 


women  wiio  had  been  famous  in  sci- 
ence. Such  as  Eettesia  Gozzadini, 
Novella  Andrea,  Novella  C'alderini, 
Maddelena  Uuonsignori,  and  many 
more,  who  were  doctors  of  law  and 
imiversity  professors :  Dorotea  15oc- 
chi,  who  was  professor  both  of  philos- 
ophy and  medicine ;  Laura  Bassi, 
wiio  was  elected  professor  of  philoso- 
phy in  \1'A2  by  acclamation,  and  aft- 
erward professor  of  experimental  phys- 
ics ;  Anna  Manzolini,  professor  of 
anatomy  in  17G0;  Gaetana  Agnesi, 
professor  of  mathematics;  Christina 
]{occati,  doctor  of  philosojjhy  in  1750; 
Glotilde  Tambroni,  professor  of  Greek 
in  I  71);> ;  Maria  Dalle  Donne,  doctor 
of  medicine  in  1 799  ;  ZafKra  Ferretti, 
doctor  of  medicine  in  1800;  JMaria 
Sega,  doctor  of  medicine  in  1799; 
Madalena  Noe,  graduate  of  civil  law 
in  1807.  Ladies  iimumerable,  who 
graduated  in  law  and  medicine  at 
I'avia,  Ferrara,  and  I'adiia,  including 
Elena  Lncrezia  Cornaro  of  Padua,  a 
very  famous  woman.  Also  in  Sala- 
manca, Alcala,  Cordova,  he  named 
more  than  one  famous  doctress.  Also 
in  Heidelberg,  Gottingen,  Giessen, 
Wiir/.burg,  etc.,  and  even  at  Utrecht, 
with  numlierless  graduates  in  the  arts 
and  faculties  at  RIontpellier  and  Paris 
in  all  ages.  Also  outside  reputations, 
as  of  Doctor  Bouvin  and  her  moth- 
er, acknowledged  celebrities  in  their 
branch  of  meilicine.  This  chain,  he 
said,  has  never  been  really  broken. 
There  was  scarcely  a  great  foreign 
university  A\*ithout  some  female  stu- 
dent of  high  reputation.  There  were 
such  women  at  Vienna  and  Peters- 
burg; many  sucli  at  Zurich.  At  Mont- 
pellier  Mademoiselle  Doumergue  was 
carrying  all  before  her,  and  Miss  Gar- 
rett and  Miss  M;iry  Putnam  at  Paris, 
though  they  were  weighted  in  the  race 
by  a  foreign  language.  Let  the  male 
Knglish  ])hysician  pass  a  stiff  exami- 
nation in  scientific  French  before  he 
brayed  so  loud.  He  had  never  done 
it  yet.  This,  he  said,  is  not  an  age 
of  chimeras ;  it  is  a  -wise  and  wary 
age,  which    has    established    in    all 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


99 


brandies  of  learning  a  sure  test  of 
ability  in  man  or  woman — public  ex- 
amination followed  by  a  public  report. 
These  public  examinations  arc  all  con- 
ducted by  males,  and  women  are  pass- 
ing them  triumphantly  all  over  Europe 
and  America,  and  graduate  as  doctors 
in  every  civilized  countr}-,  and  even  in 
half-civilized  liussia. 

"  He  then  went  into  our  own  little 
preliminaiy    examination,   and    gave 
the  statistics :  In  Latin  were  exam- 
ined 5.5  men  and  3  women  :   10  men 
were  rejected,  but  no  women  ;   7  men 
were  respectable,  7  optinii,  or   first- 
rate,  1   woman  bona,  and  1  optima. 
In   mathematics   were   examined   G7 
men  and  4  women,  of  whom  1  wom- 
an was  optima,  and  1  bona:   10  men 
were  optimi,  and  25  boni ;   the  rest 
failed.     In  German  2  men  were  ex- 
amined, and  1  woman  :   1   man  was 
good,  and  1  woman.     In  logic  2S  men  1 
were  examined,  and  1  woman :    tlie 
woman  came  out  fiftli  in  rank,  and 
she  had  only  been  at  it  a  month.     In 
moral  pliiiosophy  IG  men  were  exam- 
ined, and  1  woman  :  the  woman  came 
out   third.     In   arithmetic,    51    men 
and  3  women:    2  men  were  optimi, 
and   1  woman  optima ;   several  men 
failed,  and  not  one  woman.     In  me- 
chanics, 8 1  men  and  1   woman :  the 
woman  passed  with  fair  credit,  as  did 
]:!  men  ;  tlie  rest  failing.     In  French 
were  examined  58  men  and  -4  women  : 
3  men  and  1  woman  were  respecta- 
ble ;  8  men  and  I  woman  passed  ;  two 
women   attained    the    hi^liest  excel- 
lence, optimc^,  and  not  one  man.     In 
English,  ()3    men   and  3   women :   3 
men  were  good,  and  1  woman  ;  but  2 
women  were o/)/j wrc,  and  only  1  man." 

"Fancy  you  remembering  figures 
like  that,"  said  Vizard. 

"  It  is  all  training  and  habit,"  said 
she,  simply. 

"As  to  the  study  and  practice  of 
medicine  degrading  women,  he  asked 
if  it  degraded  men.  No;  it  elevated 
them.  They  could  not  contradict 
liim  on  that  jjoint.  He  declined  to 
believe,  without  a  particle  of  evidence, 


that  any  science  could  elevate  the 
higher  sex  and  degrade  the  lower. 
What  evidence  we  had  ran  against  it. 
Nurses  are  not,  as  a  class,  unfemi- 
nine,  yet  all  that  is  most  appalling, 
disgusting,  horrible,  and  unsexing  \\\ 
the  art  of  healing  is  monopolized  by 
them.  Women  see  worse  things  than 
doctors.  Women  nurse  all  the  pa- 
tients of  both  sexes,  often  under  hor- 
rible and  sickening  conditions,  and 
lay  out  all  the  corpses.  No  doctor  ob- 
jects to  this  on  sentimental  grounds; 
and  why  ?  Because  tlie  nurses  get 
only  a  guinea  a  week,  and  not  a  guin- 
ea a  flying  visit :  to  women  the  loath- 
some part  of  medicine ;  to  man  the 
lucrative !  The  noble  nurses  of  the 
Crimea  went  to  attend  males  only,  yet 
were  not  charged  with  indelicacy. 
They  worked  gratis.  The  would-be- 
doctresses  look  mainly  to  attending 
loomen,  but  then  they  want  to  be  paid 
for  it :  there  was  the  rub — it  was  a 
mere  money  question,  and  all  the  at- 
tempts of  the  union  to  hide  this  and 
play  the  sentimental  shop-man  Avere 
transparent  hyjiocrisy  and  humbug. 

"A  doctor  justly  revered  in  Edin- 
burgh answered  him,  but  said  noth- 
ing new  nor  effective ;  and,  to  our 
great  joy,  the  majority  went  with  us. 

"Tiius  encouraged,  the  iniiversity 
court  settled  the  matter.  We  were 
admitted  to  matriculate  and  study 
medicine,  under  certain  conditions, 
to  which  I  beg  your  attention. 

"The  instruction  of  women  for  the 
profession  of  medicine  was  to  be  con- 
ducted in  separate  classes  confined  en- 
tirely to  women. 

"The  professors  of  the  Faculty  of 
Medicine  should,  for  this  purpose,  be 
permitted  to  have  separate  classes  for 
women. 

"All  these  regulations  were  ap- 
proved by  the  chancellor,  and  are  to 
this  day  a  part  of  the  law  of  that 
university. 

"  We  ladies,  five  in  number,  but 
afterward  seven,  were  matriculated 
and  registered  professional  students 
of  medicine,  and  passed  six  delightful 


100 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


moiitlis  wc  now  look  back  upon,  as  if 
it  was  a  iiappy  dream. 

"We  were  jiickcd  women,  all  in 
earnest.  We  deserved  respect,  and 
we  met  with  it.  The  teachers  were 
kind,  and  we  attentive  and  rcspect- 
fid  :  tlie  students  were  courteous,  and 
we  were  affable  to  them,  but  discreet. 
Wiiatever  seven  young  women  could 
do  to  earn  esteem,  and  reconcile  even 
our  opponents  to  the  experiment,  we 
did.  There  was  not  an  anti-student, 
or  dowuriglit  flirt,  among  us ;  and, 
indeed,  I  iiave  observed  tiiat  an  ear- 
nest love  of  study  antl  science  controls 
tlie  amorous  frivolity  of  women  even 
more  than  men's.  Perhaps  our  heads 
are  really  smaller  tlian  men's,  and  we 
haven't  room  in  tlicm  to  be  like  .Sol- 
omon —  extremely  wise  and  arrant 
fools. 

"This  went  on  until  tlie  first  pro- 
fessional examination  ;  but,  after  the 
examination,  the  war,  to  our  conster- 
nation, recommenced.  Am  I,  then, 
bad-hearted  for  thinking  there  must 
have  been  something  in  tliat  exami- 
nation whicli  roused  the  sleeping  spirit 
of  trades-unionism  ?" 
"It  seems  probable." 
"Tiien  view  that  probability  by  the 
light  of  fact : 

"In  ]ihysiology  the  male  students 
were  127;  in  chemistry,  220:  2')  ob- 
tained honors  in  physiology;  31  in 
chemistry. 

"In  physiology  and  chemistry  there 
were  five  women.  One  obtained  hon- 
ors in  physiology  alone;  four  obtain- 
ed honors  in  both  physiology  and 
chemistry. 

"  So,  you  see,  the  female  students 
beat  the  male  students  in  physiology 
at  the  rate  of  five  to  one ;  and  in 
ciiemistry,  seven  and  three -quarters 
to  one. 

"But,  horrible  to  relate,  one  of  the 
ladies  eclipsed  twenty-nine  out  of  the 
thirty-one  gentlemen  who  took  honors 
\\\  chemistry.  In  ca])acity  she  sur- 
passed them  all ;  for  the  two,  w  ho 
were  above  her,  obtained  only  two 
marks   more  than  she  did,  yet  they 


had  been  a  year  longer  at  the  study. 
This  entitled  her  to  '  a  Hope  Scholar- 
shi]) '  for  that  year. 

"Would  you  believe  it?  the  schol- 
arship was  refused  her — in  utter  de- 
fiance of  the  founder's  conditions — on 
the  iiile  jnetext  that  she  had  studied 
at  a  different  lu)iir  fi'om  the  male 
students,  and  therefore  was  not  a 
member  of  the  chemistry  class." 

"Then  why  admit  her  to  the  com- 
petition ?"  said  Vizard. 

"Why?  because  the  a  priori  rea- 
soners  took  for  granted  she  would  be 
defeated.  Then  tlie  cry  would  have 
been,  '  You  had  your  chance ;  we  let 
you  try  for  the  Hope  Scholarship; 
but  you  could  not  win  it.'  Having 
won  it,  she  was  to  be  cheated  out  of 
it  somehow,  or  anyhow.  The  se]ia- 
rate-class  system  was  not  that  lady's 
faidt ;  she  would  have  preferred  to  pay 
the  university  lecturer  lighter  fees, 
and  attend  a  better  lecture  with  the 
male  students.  The  sejiaiate  class 
was  an  unfavorable  condition  of 
study,  which  the  university  imposed 
on  us,  as  the  condition  of  admitting 
us  to  the  professional  study  of  medi- 
cine? Surely,  then,  to  cheat  that 
lady  out  of  her  Hope  Scholarship, 
when  she  had  earned  it  under  condi- 
tions of  study  enforced  and  unfavor- 
able, was  i)erfidious  and  dishonest. 
It  was  even  a  little  ungrateful  to  the 
injured  sex ;  for  the  money  which 
fi)inided  these  scholarships  was  wom- 
en's money,  every  penny  of  it.  The 
good  I'rofessor  Hope  had  lectured  to 
ladies  fifty  years  ago ;  had  taken 
their  fees,  and  founded  his  scholar- 
ships with  their  money  :  and  it  would 
have  done  his  heart  good  to  see  a  lady 
win  and  wear  that  prize  which,  but 
for  his  female  pupils,  would  never 
have  existed.  But  it  is  easy  to  tram- 
ple on  a  dead  man  :  as  easy  as  on  liv- 
ing women. 

"  The  perfidy  was  followed  by  ruth- 
less tyranny.  They  refused  to  admit 
the  fair  criminal  to  the  laboratory, 
'else,' said  they,  'she'll  defeat  more 
men.' 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


101 


"That  killed  her,  as  a  chemist.  It 
gave  inferior  male  students  too  great 
an  advantage  over  her.  And  so  the 
public  and  Professor  Hope  were  sac- 
rificed to  a  trades -union,  and  lost  a 
great  analytical  chemist,  and  some- 
thing more  —  she  had,  to  my  knowl- 
edge, a  subtle  diagnosis.  Now  we 
have  at  present  no  yreat  analyst,  and 
tiie  few  competent  analysts  we  have 
do  not  possess  diagnosis  in  propor- 
tion. They  can  find  a  few  poisons 
in  the  dead,  but  they  are  slow  to  dis- 
cover them  in  the  living ;  so  they  are 
not  to  be  counted  on  to  save  a  life, 
where  crime  is  administering  poison. 
That  woman  could,  and  would,  I 
think. 

"  Tliey  drove  her  out  of  chemistry, 
wherein  slie  was  a  genius,  into  sur- 
gery, in  which  she  was  only  a  talent. 
She  is  now  house-surgeon  in  a  great 
hosi)ital,  and  the  public  has  lost  a 
great  chemist  and  diagnostic  jthysi- 
cian  combined. 

"Up  to  the  date  of  this  enormity, 
the  Press  had  been  pretty  evenly  di- 
vided for  and  against  us.  But  now, 
to  their  credit,  tliey  were  unanimous, 
and  reprobated  tlie  juggle  as  a  breach 
of  public  faith  and  jilain  morality. 
Backed  by  public  oi)inioii,  one  friend- 
ly professor  took  this  occasion  to  move 
the  university  to  relax  the  regulation 
of  se])arate  classes  since  it  had  been 
abused.  He  iirojxjsed  that  the  female 
students  should  be  admitted  to  the  or- 
dinary classes. 

"This  proposal  was  negatived  by 
58  to  47. 

"This  small  majority  was  gained 
by  a  characteristic  manffiuvre.  The 
queen's  name  was  gravely  dragged  in 
as  disaiiproviiig  the  proposal,  when,  in 
fact,  it  could  never  have  been  submit- 
ted to  her,  or  her  comment,  if  any, 
must  have  been  in  writing;  and  as  to 
tiic  general  question,  she  has  never 
said  a  jiublic  word  against  medical 
women.  She  has  too  much  sense  not 
to  ask  herself  how  can  any  woman  be 
fit  to  be  a  queen,  with  powers  of  life 
and  death,  if  no  woman  is  fit  to  be  so 


small   a  thing,  by  comparison,  as  a 
physician  or  a  surgeon. 

"We  were  victims  of  a  small  ma- 
jority, obtained  by  imagination  i)lay- 
ing  upon  flunkeyism,  and  the  first  re- 
sult was,  we  were  not  allowed  to  sit 
down  to  botany  with  males.  Mind 
you,  we  might  have  gathered  black- 
berries with  them  in  umbrageous 
woods  from  morn  till  dewy  eve,  and 
not  a  professor  shocked  in  the  whole 
facidty ;  but  we  must  not  sit  down 
with  them  to  an  intellectual  dinner 
of  herbs,  and  listen,  in  their  compa- 
ny, to  the  pedantic  terms  and  childish 
classifications  of  botany,  in  which  kin- 
dred properties  are  ignored.  Only 
the  male  student  must  be  told  in  pub- 
lic that  a  fox-glove  is  Digitalis  jmr- 
purea  in  the  improved  nomenclature 
of  science,  and  crow-foot  is  Ranuncu- 
lus sceleratus,  and  the  buck- bean  is 
Menijanthis  trifoliata,  and  mugwort 
is  Artemesia  Juduica;  and  that,  hav- 
ing lost  the  properties  of  hyssop  known 
to  Solomon,  we  legain  our  superiori- 
ty over  that  learned  Hebrew  by  chris- 
tening it  Gratiola  officinalis.  The 
sexes  must  not  be  taught  in  one  room 
to  discard  such  ugly  and  inexpressive 
terms  as  snow-drop,  meadow-sweet, 
heart's-ease,  fever-few,  cowslip,  etc., 
and  learn  to  know  the  cowslip  us  Pri- 
mula veris — by  class,  Pentandria  mon- 
ogijnia;  and  the  buttercup  as  Ranun- 
cidus  ucris  —  Pohjandria  monogi/nia  ; 
the  snow-drop  as  Gulanthus  nivalis 
—  llexandria  mnnogynia;  and  the 
meadow  -  sweet  as  Ulnnria ;  the 
heart's-ease  as  Viola  tricolor;  and 
the  daisy  as  BcUis  ijcrennis — Synge- 
nesia  super/hia." 

"Well,'' said  Vizard,  "  I  think  the 
individual  names  can  only  hurt  the 
jaws  and  other  organs  of  speech. 
ijut  the  classifications!  Is  the  mild 
histre  of  science  to  be  cast  over  the 
natural  disposition  of  young  women 
toward  Pali/andria  mnnogiinia  ?  Is 
trigamy  to  be  identified  in  their  sweet 
souls  with  iloral  innocence,  and  their 
victims  sitting  by  ?" 

"Such    classifications    are    puerile 


102 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


and  fanciful,"  said  Miss  Gale  ;  "but, 
for  that  very  reason,  they  don't  infect 
animals  witli  trigamy.  Novels  are 
much  more  likely  to  do  that." 

"Especially  ladies'  novels,"  sug- 
gested Vizard,  meekly. 

"Some,"  suggested  tiie  accurate 
Uhoda.  "I}ut  the  sexes  will  never 
k)se  either  morals  or  delicacy  tiiroiigh 
courses  of  botany  endured  together. 
It  will  not  hurt  young  ladies  a  bit  to 
tell  them  in  the  piesence  of  young 
gentlemen  that  a  cabbage  is  a  thala- 
mlHoral  exogen,  and  its  stamens  are 
tetrad\'nain()us ;  nor  that  the  mush- 
room, Psalliata  camjiestris,  and  the 
toad  -  stool,  M>/(C7ia  campestris,  are 
confounded  by  this  science  in  one 
class,  (Jriiptogumia.  It  will  not  even 
hurt  them  to  be  told  that  the  proper- 
ties  of  the  Arum  rnaculattim  are  little 
known,  but  that  the  males  are  crowd- 
ed round  the  centre  of  the  spadix,  and 
tiie  females  seated  at  the  base." 

Said  Vizard,  pompously,  "The pul- 
pit and  the  tea-table  are  centres  of 
similar  phenomena.  Now  I  think  of 
it,  the  pidpit  is  a  very  fair  calyx,  but 
the  tea-table  is  sadly  squat. " 

"Yes,  sir.  But,  more  than  that, 
not  one  of  these  i)edants  who  growled 
at  promiscuous  botany  has  once  object- 
ed to  promiscuous  dancing,  not  even 
with  the  gentleman's  arm  round  the 
lady's  waist,  which  tlie  custom  of  cent- 
uries can  not  render  decent.  Yet  tiie 
professors  of  delicacy  connive,  and  the 
Mother  Geese  sit  smirking  at  the  wall. 
O  world  of  hypocrites  and  humbugs  !" 

"I  am  afraid  you  are  an  npsetter 
general,"  said  V'izard.  "  But  you  are 
abominably  sincere ;  and  all  this  is  a 
curious  chapter  of  luiman  nature. 
Tray  proceed." 

Miss  Gale  nodded  gravely,  and  re- 
sumed. 

"So  much  public  ridicule  fell  on 
the  union  for  this,  and  the  blind  flunk- 
yisna  which  could  believe  the  queen 
had  meddled  in  the  detail,  that  the 
professors  melted  under  it,  and  threw 
ojien  botany  and  natural  history  to  us, 
with  other  collateral  sciences. 


"Then  came  the  great  fight,  which 
is  not  ended  yet. 

"To  qualify  for  medicine  and  pass 
the  stitf  examination,  by  which  the 
public  is  very  properly  protected,  you 
must  be  versed  in  anatomy  and  clin- 
ical surgery.  Books  and  lectures  do 
not  suffice  for  this,  without  the  human 
subject — alive  and  dead.  The  univer- 
sity coin-t  knew  that  very  well  when 
it  matriculated  us,  and  therefore  it 
provided  for  our  instruction  l)y  jjrora- 
ising  us  sejiarate  classes. 

"  Backed  by  this  public  pledge,  we 
waited  on  the  university  professor  of 
anatomy  to  arrange  om*  fees  for  a 
separate  lecture.  He  flatly  refused 
to  instruct  ns  separately  for  love  or 
money,  or  to  permit  his  assistants. 
That  meant,  'the  union  sees  a  way 
to  j)iit  you  in  a  cleft  stick  and  cheat 
you  out  of  your  degree,  in  spite  of  the 
pledge  the  university  has  given  you ; 
in  s])ite  of  your  fees,  and  of  your  time 
given  to  study  in  reliance  on  the 
promise.' 

"This  was  a  heavy  blow.  But 
there  was  an  extramural  establish- 
ment called  Surgeons'  Hall,  and  the 
university  formally  recognized  all  the 
lecturers  in  this  Hall;  so  wc  applied 
to  those  lecturers,  and  they  were 
shocked  at  the  illiberality  of  the  uni- 
versity professors,  and  admitted  us  at 
once  to  mixed  classes.  "We  attended 
lectures  with  the  male  students  on 
anatomy  and  surgery,  and  if  all  the 
anticipated  evils,  not  one  took  jj/ace, 
sir. 

"The  objections  to  mixed  classes 
proved  to  be  idle  words ;  yet  the  old- 
fashioned  minds  opposed  to  us  shut 
their  eyes  and  went  on  reasoning  a 
priori,  and  proving  that  the  evils 
which  they  saw  did  not  arise  must 
arise  should  the  experiment  of  mixed 
classes,  which  was  then  succeeding, 
ever  be  tried. 

"To  qiudify  us  for  examination, 
we  now  needed  but  one  thing  more — 
hospital  practice.  The  infirmary  is 
supported  not  so  much  by  the  univer- 
sity as  the  town.     We  applied,  there- 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


103 


fore,  with  some  confidence,  fur  tlie 
permission  nsually  conceded  to  med- 
ical students.  The  managers  refused 
us  the  tovm  infinnary.  Tiien  we  a])- 
plied  to  the  subscribers.  Tiie  major- 
ity, not  belonging  to  a  trades-union, 
declared  in  our  favor,  and  intimated 
plainly  that  they  would  turn  out  the 
illiberal  managers  at  the  next  election 
of  managers. 

"But  by  this  time  the  war  was  hot 
and  general,  and  hard  blows  dealt  on 
botli  sides.  It  was  artfully  suppress- 
ed by  our  enemies  in  tlie  profession 
and  in  tlie  Press  that  we  had  begged 
liard  for  the  separate  class  which  had 
been  promised  us  in  anatomy,  and 
permission  to  attend,  by  ourselves,  a 
limited  number  of  wards  in  tlie  infirm- 
ary ;  and  on  this  falsehood  by  sup- 
pression worse  calumnies  were  built. 

"I  shall  tell  you  what  we  really 
were,  and  what  foul  mouths  and  pens 
insinuated  we  must  be. 

"Two  accomplished  women  had 
joined  us,  and  we  >veie  now  tlie  seven 
wise  virgins  of  a  lialf-civilized  nation, 
and,  if  I  know  black  from  wliite,  we 
were  seven  of  its  brigiitest  ornaments. 
We  were  seven  ladies,  who  wished  to 
be  doctresses,  especially  devoted  to 
our  own  sex ;  seven  good  students, 
who  went  on  our  knees  to  the  univer- 
sity for  those  separate  classes  in  anat- 
omy and  clinical  surgery  which  the 
university  was  bound  in  honor  to  sup- 
j)ly  us  ;  but,  our  prayer  rejected,  said 
to  the  university,  'Well,  use  your  own 
discretion  about  sejiarate  or  mixed 
classes  ;  but  for  your  own  credit,  and 
that  of  iiuman  nature,  do  not  willfully 
tie  a  liangman's  noose  to  throttle  the 
weak  and  deserving,  and  don't  cheat 
seven  poor,  hard- working,  meritorious 
women,  your  own  matriculated  stu- 
dents, out  of  our  entrance-fees,  which 
lie  to  this  day  in  the  university  cof- 
fers, out  of  tlie  exceptionally  heavy 
fees  we  have  paid  to  your  professors, 
out  of  all  the  fruit  of  our  hard  study, 
out  of  our  diplomas,  and  our  bread. 
Solve  the  knot  your  own  way.  We 
will  submit  to  mi.xed  classes,  or  any 


thing,    except    professional    destruc- 
tion.' 

"In  this  spirit  our  lion-hearted 
leader  wrote  the  letter  of  an  unin- 
jured dove,  and  said  there  were  a 
great  many  more  wards  in  the  in- 
firmary than  any  male  student  could 
or  did  attend;  we  would  be  content 
to  divide  the  matter  thus:  the  male 
students  to  have  the  monopoly  of  two- 
thirds,  we  to  have  the  bare  riglit  of 
admission  to  one-third.  By  this  the 
male  students  (if  any)  who  had  a  sin- 
cere objection  to  study  the  sick,  and 
witness  operations,  in  our  company, 
could  never  be  troubled  with  us  ;  and 
we,  though  less  favored  than  the  male 
students,  could  just  manage  to  qualify 
for  that  public  examination,  which 
was  to  prove  whether  we  could  make 
able  physicians  or  not. 

"Sir,  this  gentle  proposal  was  re- 
jected with  rude  scorn,  and  in  ag- 
gressive terms.  Such  is  the  spirit  of 
a  trades-union. 

"Having  now  shown  you  what  we 
were,  I  will  now  tell  you  what  our  en- 
emies, declining  to  observe  our  con- 
duct, though  it  was  very  public,  sug- 
gested we  must  be — seven  shameless 
women,  who  pursued  medicine  as  a 
handle  for  sexuality  ;  who  went  into 
the  dissecting-room  to  dissect  males, 
and  into  the  hospital  to  crowd  round 
the  male  patient,  and  who  demanded 
mixed  classes,  that  we  might  have 
male  companions  in  those  studies 
which  every  feminine  woman  would 
avoid  altogether. 

"This  key-note  struck,  the  jiublic 
was  regaled  with  a  burst  of  hypocri- 
sy such  as  IMoliere  never  had  tlie  luck 
to  witness,  or  oh,  what  a  comedy  he 
would  have  written  ! 

"The  immodest  sex,  taking  ad- 
vantage of  Molicre's  decease  without 
heirs  of  his  brains,  set  to  work  in  pub- 
lic to  teach  the  modest  se.x  modesty. 

"  III  the  conduct  of  tliis  pleasant 
paradox,  the  representatives  of  that 
sex,  which  lias  much  courage  and  lit- 
tle modesty,  were  two  jirofessors — 
who  conducted  the  paradox  so  judi- 


lot 


A  WOMAN-IIATEU. 


ciously  that  tlie  Loiulon  Press  repri- 
inaiided  tliem  for  tlieir  foul  insimui- 
lioiis  —  and  a  minil)L'r  of  young  men 
called  medical  studcMits. 

"Now,  the  medical  student  sur- 
passes most  young  men  in  looseness 
of  life,  and  indecency  of  mind  and 
speech. 

"The  representatives  of  woman- 
liood  to  be  instructed  in  modesty  by 
these  animals,  old  and  yoinig,  were 
seven  prudes,  whose  minds  were  de- 
voted to  study  and  honorable  ambi- 
tion. These  women  were  as  much 
above  the  average  of  tlieir  sex  in  fem- 
inine reserve  and  independence  of  the 
male  sex  as  they  were  in  intellect. 

"The  average  girl,  who  through- 
out tills  discussion  was  all  of  a  sud- 
den i)ufted  as  a  lily,  because  she 
ceased  to  be  observed,  can  attend  to 
nothing  if  a  man  is  by;  she  can't 
work,  she  can't  play,  she  is  so  eaten 
up  with  sexuality.  Tiie  frivolous 
soul  can  just  manage  to  i)lay  crocpiet 
with  females  ;  but,  enter  a  man  upon 
the  scene,  and  she  does  even  that  very 
ill,  and  can  hardly  be  got  to  take  her 
turn  in  the  only  thing  she  has  really 
given  her  mind  to.  We  were  angels 
compared  with  this  paltry  creature, 
and  she  was  the  standing  butt  of  pub- 
lic censure,  until  it  was  found  tliat  an 
imaginary  jMCtiu'e  of  her  could  be 
made  the  handle  for  insulting  her  bet- 
ters. 

"Against  these  seven  prudes,  de- 
cent dotards  and  tiicir  foul-mouthed 
allies  flung  out  insinuations  which 
did  not  escape  public  censure ;  and 
the  medical  students  declared  their 
modesty  was  shocked  at  our  intrusion 
into  anatomy  and  surgery,  and  jieti- 
tioned  against  us.  Some  of  the  I'ress 
were  deceived  by  tliis  for  a  time,  and 
hurlaient  avec  les  loups. 

"I  took  up,  one  day,  my  favorite 
weekly,  in  which  nearly  every  writer 
seems  to  me  a  scholar,  and  was  re- 
galed with  sucli  lines  as  tliese : 

"  'It  appears  that  girls  are  to  as- 
sociate with  boys  as  medical  students, 
in    order    that,    when    tliey    become 


women,  they  may  be  able  to  speak  to 
men  with  entire  ])lairiness  upon  all  the 
subjects  of  a  doctor's  daily  practice. 

"  'In  jdaiii  words,  the  aspirants  to 
medicine  and  surgery  desire  to  rid 
themselves  speedily  and  effectually 
of  that  modesty  which  nature  lias 
planted  in  women.'  And  then  the 
writer  concludes  :  '  We  beg  to  suggest 
that  there  are  other  jilaces  besides 
dissecting-rooms  and  hosi)itals  where 
tiiose  ladies  may  relieve  themselves 
of  the  modesty  whicli  they  find  so 
troublesome.  But  fathers  naturally 
object  to  this  being  done  at  tlieir  sons' 
expense.' " 

"  Infamous  I"  cried  Vizard.  "  One 
comfort,  no  man  ever  penned  that. 
That  is  some  old  woman  writing 
down  voung  ones." 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Rhoda.  "  I 
have  met  so  many  womanish  men  in 
this  business.  All  I  know  is,  that 
my  cheeks  burned,  and,  for  once  in 
the  fight,  scalding  tears  ran  down 
them.  It  was  as  if  a  friend  had  spat 
upon  me." 

"  What  a  chimera !  What  a  mon- 
strous misinter])retation  of  i)ure  minds 
I  I)y  minds  impure!  To  us  the  dissect- 
ing-room was  a  temple,  and  the  dead 
an  awe,  revolting  to  all  our  senses, 
until  the  knife  revealed  to  our  minds 
the  Creator's  hand  in  structural  beau- 
ties that  the  trained  can  aj)preciate, 
if  wicked  dunces  can't. 

"And  as  to  the  infirmaiy,  we 
should  have  done  just  what  we  did 
'  at  Ziiiicb.  We  held  a  little  aloof 
from  the  male  patients,  unless  some 
gof)d-natured  lecturer,  or  ]iupil,  gave 
us  a  signal,  and  then  we  came  for- 
ward. Jf  we  came  iminvited,  we  al- 
ways stood  behind  the  male  students  : 
l)Ut  we  did  crowd  round  the  beds  of 
the  female  patients,  and  claimed  the 
inner  row:  anu,  sir,  thky  thanickd 
God  for  us  opkni.y. 

"A  few  awkward  revelations  were 
made  during  this  discussion.  A  med- 
ical student  had  the  candor  to  write 
and  say  that  he  had  been  at  a  lecture, 
and  the  professor  had  told  an  indeli- 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


lOd 


cate  stoiy,  and,  finding  it  pulatable  to 
his  modest  males,  had  said,  'There, 
gentlemen :  now,  if  female  students 
were  admitted  here,  I  coidd  not  have 
told  you  tills  amusing  circumstance.' 
So  that  it  was  our  purifying  influence 
he  dreaded  in  secret,  though  he  told 
the  public  lie  dreaded  the  reverse. 

"Again,  female  patients  wrote  to 
the  journals  to  beg  that  female  stu- 
dents might  be  admitted  to  come  be- 
tween them  and  the  brutal  curiosity 
of  the  male  students,  to  which  they 
Avere  subjected  in  so  ofi'ensive  a  way, 
that  more  than  one  poor  creature  de- 
clared she  had  felt  agonies  of  shame, 
even  in  the  middle  of  an  agonizing 
operation. 

"  This  being  a  cry  from  that  pub- 
lic for  whose  sake  the  whole  clique 
of  physicians — male  and  female — ex- 
ists, had,  of  course,  no  great  weight 
in  the  anion  controversy. 

"But,  sir,  if  grave  men  and  wom- 
en will  sit  calmly  down  and  fling  dirt 
upon  every  woman  who  siiall  aspire 
to  medicine  in  an  island,  though  she 
can  do  so  on  a  neighboring  continent 
with  honor,  and  clioose  their  time 
wlien  tiie  dirt  can  only  fixll  on  seven 
known  women — since  the  female  stu- 
dents in  that  island  are  only  seven — 
the  pretended  generality  becomes  a 
cowardly  personality,  and  wounds  as 
such,  and  excites  less  cold-hearted, 
and  more  hot-headed  blackguards  to 
outrage.  It  was  so  at  riiiladeliihia, 
and  it  was  so  at  Edinburgh. 

"Our  extramural  teaciier  in  anat- 
omy was  about  to  give  a  competitive 
examination.  Now,  on  these  occa- 
sions, we  were  inirticidarly  obnox- 
ious. Often  and  clearly  as  it  had 
been  proved,  by  «  priori  reasoning, 
that  we  7nust  be  infinitely  inferior  to 
the  average  male,  we  jiersisted  in 
proving,  by  hard  fact,  that  we  were 
inlinitcly  his  su])erior;  and  every  ex- 
amination gave  us  an  opportunity  of 
crushing  solid  reasons  under  hollow 
fact. 

"A  band  of  medical  students  de- 
termined that  for  once  «  priori  rea- 


soning should  have  fair  play,  and  not 
be  crushed  by  a  thing  so  illusory  as 
fact.  Accordingly,  they  got  tlie  gates 
closed,  and  collected  round  them.  We 
came  up,  one  after  another,  and  were 
received  with  hisses,  groans,  and  abu- 
sive ejnthets. 

"This  mode  of  reasoning  must  have 
been  admirably  adapted  to  my  weak 
understanding;  for  it  convinced  me 
at  once  I  had  no  business  there,  and 
I  was  for  private  study  directly. 

"But,  sir,  you  know  the  ancients 
said,  '  Better  is  an  army  of  stags  with 
a  lion  for  their  leader,  than  an  army 
of  lions  with  a  stag  for  their  leader.' 
Now,  it  so  happened  that  we  had  a 
lioness  for  our  leader.  She  pushed 
manfully  through  the  crowd,  and 
hammered  at  the  door:  then  we 
crept  quaking  after.  She  ordered 
those  inside  to  open  the  gates ;  and 
some  student  took  shame,  and  did. 
In  marched  our  lioness,  crept  after 
bv  her — her — " 
""Her  cubs." 

"A  thousand  thanks,  good  sir. 
Her  does.  On  second  thoughts,  '  her 
hinds.'  Doe  is  the  female  of  buck. 
Now,  I  said  stags.  Well,  the  ruffians 
wlio  had  undertaken  to  teach  us  mod- 
esty swarmed  in  too.  They  dragged 
a  sheej)  into  the  lecture-room,  lighted 
pi]ics,produced  bottles, drank,  smoked, 
Mild  abused  us  ladies  to  our  faces, 
and  interrupted  the  lecturer  at  inter- 
vals with  tiieir  howls  and  ribaldry : 
that  was  intended  to  show  the  profess- 
or he  should  not  be  listened  to  any 
more  if  he  admitted  the  female  stu- 
dents. Tiie  affair  got  wind,  and  oth- 
er students,  not  connected  with  medi- 
cine, came  jjouring  in,  with  no  worse 
motive,  proliably,  than  to  see  tiie  lark. 
Some  of  these,  however,  thought  the 
introduction  of  tlie  sheep  unfair  to  so 
respected  a  lecturer,  and  jiroceeded  to 
remove  her ;  but  the  professor  i>ut  up 
his  hand,  and  said,  '  Oh,  don't  remove 
her:  she  is  sujierior  in  intellect  to 
many  persons  here  ])rescnt.' 

"At  the  end  of  tiie  lecture,  think- 
ing us  in   actual  danger  from  tiicse 


lOG 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


nifTians,  he  offered  to  let  us  out  by  a 
side  door;  but  our  lioness  stood  u]) 
and  said,  in  a  voice  tliat  rings  in  my 
ear  even  now,  'Tliank  you,  sir;  no. 
Tliere  are  gentlemen  enougli  here  to 
escort  us  safely.' 

"The  magic  of  a  great  word  from 
a  great  lieart,  at  certain  nioinenis 
when  minds  are  heated !  At  that 
word,  sir,  the  scales  fell  from  a  hun- 
dred eyes;  manhood  awoke  with  a 
start,  ay,  and  chivalry  too  ;  fifty  man- 
ly fellows  were  round  us  in  a  moment, 
with  glowing  cheeks  and  eyes,  and 
they  carried  us  all  home  to  our  sever- 
al lodgings  in  triumph.  The  coward- 
ly caititl's  of  the  trades-union  howled 
outside,  and  managed  to  throw  a  lit- 
tle dirt  upon  our  gowns,  and  also 
lunlod  ejiithets,  most  of  which  were 
new  to  me ;  but  it  has  since  been 
stated  hy  i)ersons  more  versed  in  the 
language  of  the  canaille  that  no  foul- 
er terms  are  known  to  tlie  dregs  of 
mankind. 

"Thus  did  tlie  immodest  sex,  in 
the  person  of  the  medical  student, 
outrage  seven  fair  samples  of  the 
modest  sex — to  teach  them  modesty. 

"Next  morning  the  ])olice  magis- 
trates dealt  with  a  few  of  oiu'  teacli- 
ers,  inflicted  severe  rebukes  on  them, 
and  feeble  fines. 

"  Tiie  craftier  elders  disowned  tlie 
riot  in  public,  but  approved  it  in  pri- 
vate ;  and  continued  to  act  in  con- 
cert with  it,  only  with  cunning,  not 
violence.  It  caused  no  honest  revul- 
sion of  feeling,  except  in  the  disgust- 
ed public,  and  they  had  no  power  to 
heljj  us. 

"The  next  incident  was  a  stormy 
debate  by  the  subscribers  to  the  in- 
firmary;  and  here  we  had  a  little 
feminine  revenge,  which,  outraged  as 
we  had  been,  I  hope  you  will  not 
grudge  lis. 

"Our  lioness  subscribed  five 
pounds,  and  became  entitled  to  vote 
and  speech.  As  the  foulest  epithets 
had  been  hurled  at  her  by  the  union, 
and  a  certain  professor  had  told  lier, 
to   her   face,  no  respectable  woman 


would  come  to  liiin  and  propose  to 
stud/  medicine,  she  said,  publicly, 
that  she  had  come  to  his  opinion, 
and  respectable  women  would  avoid 
him — which  caused  a  laugh. 

"She  also  gave  a  venerable  old 
physician,  our  bitter  opponent,  a  slap 
tliat  was  not  quite  so  fair.  His  at- 
tendant had  been  concerned  in  that 
outrage,  and  she  assumed — in  which 
she  was  not  justified  —  that  the  old 
doctor  approved.  'To  be  sure,' said 
she,  '  they  say  he  was  intoxicated, 
and  that  is  the  only  possible  excuse.' 

"The  old  doctor  had  only  to  say 
that  he  did  not  control  his  assistants 
in  the  street ;  and  his  own  mode  of 
conducting  the  oi)position,  and  his 
long  life  of  honor,  were  there  to  cor- 
rect this  young  woman's  unworthy 
siu-mises,  and  she  would  have  had  to 
apologize  for  going  too  far  on  mere 
surmise.  But,  instead  of  that,  he 
was  so  injudicious  as  to  accuse  her 
of  foul  language,  and  say,  'My  at- 
tendant is  a  perfect  gentleman  ;  he 
woidd  not  be  my  attendant  if  he  were 
not.' 

"Our  lioness  had  him  directly. 
'Oh,' said  she,  'if  Dr.  So-and-so  ])re- 
fers  to  say  that  his  attendant  com- 
mitted that  outrage  on  decency  when 
in  his  sober  senses,  I  am  quite  con- 
tent.' 

"This  was  described  as  violent  in- 
vective by  people  witli  weak  memo- 
ries, who  had  forgotten  tlie  nature  of 
the  outrage  oin-  lioness  was  comment- 
ing on  ;  but  in  truth  it  was  only  su- 
perior skill  in  debate,  with  truth  to 
back  it. 

"For  my  part,  I  kept  the  police 
report  at  the  time,  and  have  com- 
jiared  it  with  her  sjieech.  The  judi- 
cial comments  on  those  rioters  are  far 
more  severe  than  hers.  The  trutli 
is,  it  was  her  facts  that  hit  too  hard, 
not  her  expressions. 

"Well,  sir,  she  obtained  a  majori- 
ty ;  and  tltose  managers  of  the  infirm- 
ary who  olijected  to  female  students 
were  dismissed,  atid  others  elected. 
At  the  same  meeting  tiie  Court  of 


A  WOMAN-HATER./ 


107 


Contributors  passed  a  statute,  making 
it  tiie  law  of  the  infirmary  that  stu- 
dents should  be  admitted  without  re- 
gard to  sex, 

"But  as  to  tlie  mere  election  of 
managers,  the  other  party  demanded 
a  scrutiny  of  the  votes,  and  instruct- 
ive figures  came  out.  Tiiere  voted 
with  us  twenty-eiglit  firms,  thirty-one 
ladies,  seven  doctors. 

"There  voted  with  the  union  four- 
teen firms,  two  ladies,  thirty  -  seven 
doctors,  and  three  druggists. 

"Thereupon  tiie  trades -union,  as 
declared  by  the  figures,  alleged  that 
firms  ought  not  to  vote.  Nota  bene, 
they  always  had  voted  unchallenged 
till  they  voted  for  fair  play  to  women. 

"  The  union  served  the  jjrovost  with 
an  interdict  not  to  declare  the  new 
managers  elected. 

"  We  applied  for  our  tickets  under 
the  new  statute,  but  were  impudently 
refused,  under  the  plea  that  the  man- 
agers must  first  be  consulted:  so  did 
the  servants  of  the  infirmary  defy  the 
masters  in  order  to  exclude  us. 

"By  tliis  time  the  great  desire  of 
women  to  practice  medicine  had  be- 
gun to  show  itself.  Nimibers  came  in 
and  matriculated ;  and  the  pressure 
on  the  authorities  to  keep  faith,  and 
relax  the  dead-lock  they  had  put  us 
in,  was  great. 

"Thereupon  the  authorities,  in- 
stead of  saying,  '  We  have  pledged 
ourselves  to  a  great  number  of  ])ers()iis, 
and  pocketed  tlieir  I'eoi,'  took  friglit, 
and  cast  about  for  juggles.  They  af- 
fected to  discover  all  of  a  sudden  that 
they  had  acted  illegally  in  matricula- 
ting female  students.  They  would, 
therefore,  not  give  back  their  fees,  and 
pay  them  two  hundred  pounds  apiece 
for  breach  of  contract,  but  detain  their 
fees  and  stop  their  studies  until  com- 
pelled by  judicial  decision  to  keep 
faith.  Observe,  it  was  under  advice 
of  tlie  lord-justice-general  they  had 
matriculated  us,  and  entered  into  a 
contract  with  \\9,  fur  fulfilling  which 
it  was  not,  and  is  not,  in  the  power  of 
nn)f  mortal  man  to  punish  them. 


"But  these  pettifoggers  said  this: 
'  We  have  acted  illegally,  and  there- 
fore not  we,  but  you,  shall  sutter :  we 
will  profit  by  our  illegal  act,  for  we 
will  cheat  you  out  of  your  fees  to  the 
university  and  your  fees  to  its  pro- 
fessors, as  well  as  the  seed-time  of 
your  youth  that  we  have  wasted.' 

"Now,  in  that  country  they  can  get 
the  opinions  of  the  judges  by  raising 
what  they  call  an  action  of  declara- 
tor. 

"  One  would  think  it  was  their  bus- 
iness to  go  to  the  judges,  and  mean- 
time give  us  the  benefit  of  the  legal 
doubt,  while  it  lasted,  and  of  the  mor- 
al no -doubt,  which  will  last  till  the 
day  of  judgment,  and  a  day  after. 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it.  They  deliberate- 
ly broke  their  contract  with  us,  kept 
our  fees,  and  cheated  us  out  of  the 
article  we  had  bought  of  them,  dis- 
owned all  sense  of  moralitj',  yet  shift- 
ed the  burden  of  law  on  to  our  shoul- 
ders. Litigation  is  long.  Perfidy 
was  in  possession.  Possession  is  nine 
points.  The  female  students  are  now 
sitting  with  their  hands  before  them, 
juggled  out  of  their  studies,in  plain  de- 
fiance of  justice  and  public  faith, wait- 
ing till  time  shall  show  them  whether 
provincial  lawyers  can  pettifog  as  well 
as  trades-union  doctors. 

"As  for  me,  I  had  retired  to  civil- 
ized climes  long  before  this.  I  used 
to  write  twice  a  week  to  my  parents, 
but  I  withheld  all  mention  of  the  out- 
rage at  Surgeons'  Hall.  I  knew  it 
would  give  them  useless  pain.  But 
in  three  weeks  or  so  came  a  letter  from 
my  father,  unlike  any  other  I  ever 
knew  him  write.  It  did  not  even  be- 
gin, ']\ry  dear  child.'  This  was  what 
he  sniil  (the  words  arc  engraved  in  my 
nicmoiy) :  '  Out  of  that  nation  of  cow- 
ards and  skimks !  out  of  it  this  mo- 
ment, once  and  forever!  Tlie  States 
are  your  home.  Draft  on  London  in- 
closed. Write  to  me  from  France 
next  week,  or  write  to  me  no  more. 
Graduate  in  France.  Tiien  come 
North,  and  sail  from  Havre  to  New 
York.     You  have  done  with  Britain, 


108 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


and  so  have  I,  till  our  next  war. 
Pray  God  tliat  mayn't  be  long ! ' 

"It  was  like  a  lion's  roar  of  an- 
guish. I  saw  my  dear  father's  heart 
was  hnrsting  with  agony  and  rage  at 
the  insult  to  his  daughter,  and  I  shed 
tears  for  him  those  wretches  had  nev- 
er drawn  from  me. 

"  I  had  cried  at  being  insulted  by 
scholars  in  the  Press  ;  but  what  was 
it  to  rae  that  the  scum  of  the  medical 
profession,  which  is  the  scum  of  God's 
whole  creation,  called  me  woids  I  did 
not  know  the  meaning  of,  and  tlung 
the  dirt  of  their  streets,  and  the  tilth 
of  their  souls,  after  me  ?  I  was  fright- 
ened a  little,  that  is  all.  But  that 
these  reptiles  could  wound  my  darling 
old  lion's  heart  across  the  ocean !  Sir, 
he  was  a  man  who  could  be  keen  and 
even  severe  with  men,  but  every  virt- 
uous woman  was  a  sacred  thing  to 
him.  Had  he  seen  one,  though  a 
stranger,  insulted  as  we  were,  he 
would  have  died  in  her  defense. 
He  was  a  true  American.  And  to 
think  the  dregs  of  mankind  could 
wound  him  for  his  daughter,  and  so 
near  the  end  of  his  ow^n  dear  life. 
Oh!"     She  turned  her  head  away. 

"My  poor  girll"  said  Vizard,  and 
his  own  voice  was  broken. 

When  he  said  that,  she  gave  him 
her  hand,  and  seemed  to  cling  to  his 
a  little;  but  she  turned  her  head 
away  from  him  and  cried,  and  even 
trembled  a  little. 

But  she  very  soon  recovered  her- 
self, and  said  she  would  try  to  end 
her  story.     It  had  been  long  enough. 

"Sir,  my  father  had  often  obeyed 
me;  but  now  I  knew  I  must  obey 
him.  I  got  testimonials  in  Edin- 
burgh, and  started  South  directly. 
In  a  week  I  was  in  the  South  of 
France.  Oh,  what  a  change  in  peo- 
))le's  minds  by  mere  cliange  of  ]ilace! 
The  professors  received  me  with  win- 
ning courtesy;  some  hats  were  lifted 
to  me  in  the  street,  with  marked  re- 
spect ;  flowers  were  scut  fb  my  lodg- 
ings by  gentlemen  who  never  once 
intruded  on  me  in  person,     I  was  in 


a  civilized  land.  Yet  there  was  a 
disappointment  for  me.  I  inquired 
for  Cornelia.  The  wretch  had  just 
gone  and  married  a  professor.  I 
feared  she  was  up  to  no  good,  by  her 
writing  so  seldom  of  late. 

"  I  sent  her  a  line  that  an  old 
friend  had  returned,  and  had  not  for- 
gotten her,  nor  our  mutual  vows. 

"She  came  directly,  and  was  for 
caressing  away  her  crime,  and  dis- 
solving it  in  crocodile  tears;  but  I 
played  the  injured  friend  and  the  ty- 
rant. 

"  Tiien  she  curled  round  me,  and 
coaxed,  and  said,  '  Sweetheart,  I  can 
advance  your  interests  all  the  better. 
You  shall  be  fatnous  for  us  both.  I 
siiall  be  happier  in  your  success  than 
in  my  own.' 

"in  short,  she  made  it  very  hard 
to  hold  si)ite ;  and  it  ended  in  feeble- 
minded embraces.  Indeed,  she  was 
of  service  to  me.  I  had  a  fiivor  to 
ask :  I  wanted  leave  to  count  my 
Scotch  time  in  France. 

"IMy  view  was  tenable;  and  Cor- 
nelia, by  her  beauty  and  her  populari- 
ty, gained  over  all  the  professors  to  it 
but  one.     He  stood  out. 

"Well,  sir,  an  extraordinary  oc- 
ciu'rence  befriended  me ;  no,  not  ex- 
traordinary— unusual. 

"I  lodged  on  a  second  floor.  The 
first  floor  was  very  handsome.  A 
young  Englishman  and  his  wife  took 
it  for  a  week.  She  was  musical — a 
real  genius.  The  only  woman  I  ever 
heard  sing  without  whining;  for  we 
are,  by  nature,  the  medical  and  un- 
musical sex." 

"So  you  said  before." 

"I  know  I  did;  and  I  mean  .to 
keep  saying  it  till  people  sec  it. 
Well,  the  young  man  was  taken  vio- 
lently and  mysteriously  ill ;  had  syn- 
cope after  syncope,  and  at  last  ceased 
to  breathe. 

"The  wife  was  paralyzed,  and  sat 
stupefied,  and  the  people  about  fear- 
ed for  her  reason. 

"After  a  time  they  begged  me  to 
come    down    and    talk    to    hei-.     Of 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


109 


course  I  went.  I  found  her  with  her 
head  upon  Iiis  knees.  I  sat  down 
quietly,  and  looked  at  him.  lie  was 
young  and  beautiful,  hut  with  a  femi- 
nine beauty ;  his  head  finely  shaped, 
with  curly  locks  that  glittered  in  tlie 
sun,  and  one  golden  lock  lighter  than 
the  rest;  his  eyes  and  eyelashes,  his 
oval  face,  his  white  neck,  and  his 
white  hand,  all  beautifid.  His  left 
hand  rested  on  the  counterpane. 
Tliere  was  an  emerald  ring  on  one 
finger.  He  was  like  some  beauti- 
ful flower  cut  down.  I  can  see  him 
now. 

"The  woman  lifted  her  head  and 
saw  me.  She  had  a  noble  face, 
though  now  distorted  and  wild. 

"She  cried,  'Tell  me  he  is  not 
dead !  tell  me  he  is  not  dead !'  and 
when  I  did  not  reply,  the  poor  creat- 
ure gave  a  wild  cry,  and  her  senses 
left  her.  We  carried  her  into  anoth- 
er room. 

"While  the  women  were  bringing 
her  to,  an  official  came  to  insist  on 
the  interment  taking  place.  They 
are  terribly  expeditious  in  the  South 
of  France. 

"This  caused  an  altercation,  and 
the  poor  lady  ruslied  out;  and  find- 
ing the  officer  peremptory,  Hung  her 
arms  round  tiie  body,  and  said  they 
siiould  not  be  jiarted — she  would  be 
buried  witli  him. 

"The  oflicial  was  moved,  but  said 
the  law  was  strict,  and  the  town  must 
conduct  the  funeral  unless  slie  could 
find  the  sad  coiu-age  to  give  tlie  nec- 
essary instructions.  With  this  he 
was  going  out,  inexorable,  when  all 
of  a  sudden  I  observed  something 
that  seut  my  heart  into  my  mouth, 
and  I  cried  'Arretez!'  so  loud  that 
every  body  stared, 

"  I  said,  '  You  must  wait  till  a 
physician  has  seen  him ;  he  has 
moved  a  finger.' 

"  I  stared  at  the  body,  and  they  all 
stared  at  me. 

"He  had  moved  a  finger.  When 
I  first  saw  him,  his  fingers  were  all 
close   together;    but   now   the   little 


finger  was  quite  away  from  the  third 
finger — the  one  with  the  ring  on. 

"I  felt  his  heart,  and  found  a  lit- 
tle warmth  about  it,  but  no  percepti- 
ble pulse.  I  ordered  them  to  take 
off  his  sheet  and  put  on  blankets,  but 
not  to  touch  him  till  I  came  back 
witii  a  learned  piiysician.  The  wife 
embraced  me,  all  trembling,  and 
promised  obedience.  I  got  a  fiacre 
and  drove  to  Dr.  Brasseur,  who  was 
my  hostile  professor,  but  very  able. 
I  burst  on  him,  and  told  him  I  had 
a  case  of  catalepsy  for  him  —  it 
wasn't  catalepsy,  v'ou  know,  but  phy- 
sicians are  fond  of  Greek  ;  they  j)re- 
fer  the  wrong  Greek  word  to  the 
right  English.  So  I  called  it  'cata- 
le])sy,'  and  said  I  believed  they  were 
going  to  bury  a  live  man.  He  shrug- 
ged his  shoulders,  and  said  that  was 
one  of  the  customs  of  the  coinitrv. 
He  would  come  in  an  hour.  I  told 
him  that  would  not  do,  the  man  would 
be  in  his  coffin  ;  he  must  come  direct- 
ly. He  smiled  at  my  impetuosity, 
and  yielded. 

"I  got  him  to  the  patient.  He 
examined  him,  and  said  he  might  be 
alive,  but  feared  the  last  spark  was 
going  out.  He  dared  not  venture  on 
friction.     We  must  be  wary. 

"Well,  we  tried  this  stimtdant  and 
that,  till  at  last  we  got  a  sigh  out  of 
the  ])atient;  and  I  shall  not  forget  tlie 
scream  of  joy  at  that  sigh,  which  made 
the  room  ring,  and  thrilled  us  all. 

"By-and-by  I  was  so  fortunate  as 
to  suggest  letting  a  small  stream  of 
water  fall  from  a  heiglit  ou  his  head 
and  face.  We  nninaged  that,  and  by- 
and-by  were  rewarded  with  a  sneeze. 

"  I  think  a  sneeze  must  revivify 
the  brain  wonderfully,  for  he  made 
rapid  progress,  and  then  we  tried 
friction,  ami  he  got  well  very  quick. 
Indeed,  as  he  had  nothing  the  matter 
wiih  him,  except  being  dead,  he  got 
ridiculously  well,  and  began  jiaying  us 
fulsome  com]iliments,  tlie  doctor  and 
me. 

"So  then  we  handed  him  to  hi3 
joyful  wife. 


no 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


"They  talk  of  crying  for  joy,  as  if 
it  was  done  every  il;iy.  I  never  saw 
it  but  once,  and  slie  was  tlie  woman. 
She  made  a  curious  gurgle;  but  it 
was  very  pretty.  I  was  glad  to  have 
seen  it,  and  very  proud  to  be  tiie 
cause. 

"The  next  day  that  pair  left, 
lie  was  Englisii ;  and  so  many  good- 
natured  strangers  called  on  him  that 
he  fled  swiftly,  and  did  not  even  hid 
me  good-bye.  However,  I  was  told 
they  botii  inquired  for  me,  and  were 
sorry  I  was  out  wlien  they  went." 

"  How  good  of  them !'  said  Vizard, 
turning  red. 

"Oh,  never  mind,  sir;  I  made  use 
of  him.  I  scribbled  an  article  that 
very  day,  entitled  it,  'Wliile  there's 
life  there's  hope,'  and  rushed  with  it 
to  the  editor  of  a  journal.  He  took 
it  with  delight.  I  wrote  it  a  la  Fran- 
^aise :  picture  of  the  dead  husband, 
mourning  wife,  the  impending  inter- 
ment;  ert'aced  myself  entirely,  ami 
said  the  wife  had  lefused  to  bury  liim 
until  Dr.  Brasseur,  whose  fame  had 
reached  her  ears,  had  seen  the  body. 
To  humor  her,  the  doctor  was  apidied 
to,  and,  his  benevolence  being  equal 
to  his  science,  he  came  :  when,  lo !  a 
sudden  surprise ;  tlie  swift,  unerring 
eye  of  science  detected  some  subtle 
sign  that  had  escajied  the  lesser  lumi- 
naries. He  doubted  the  death.  He 
applied  remedies ;  he  exhausted  the 
means  of  his  art,  with  little  avail  at 
first,  but  at  last  a  sigh  was  elicited, 
then  a  sneeze ;  and,  marvelous  to 
relate,  in  one  hour  the  dead  man  was 
sitting  uj),  not  convalescent,  but  well. 
I  concluded  with  some  reflections  on 
tills  most  important  case  of  suspended 
animation  very  creditable  to  the  profes- 
sion of  medicine,  and  Dr.  Brasseur." 

"There  was  a  fox  I" 

"Well,  look  at  my  hair.  Wiiat 
else  could  you  expect?  I  said  that 
before  too. 

"Aly  notice  published,  I  sent  it  to 
the  doctor,  with  my  respects,  but  did 
not  call  on  him.  However,  one  day 
lie  met  me,  and  greeted  me  with  a 


low  bow.  '  Mademoiselle,'  said  he, 
'yuu  were  always  a  good  student; 
but  now  you  siiow  the  s])iiit  of  a  con- 
frere, and  so  gracefully,  that  we  are 
all  agreed  we  must  have  you  for  one 
as  soon  as  possible.' 

"I  courtesieti,  and  felt  my  face  red, 
and  said  I  should  be  the  proudest 
w'oman  in  France. 

"'Grand  Dieu,'  said  he,  'I  hope 
not;  for  your  modesty  is  not  the 
least  of  your  cliarms. ' 

"So,  tiie  way  was  made  smooth, 
and  1  had  to  work  hard,  and  in  about 
fourteen  months  I  was  admitted  to 
my  final  e.xamination.  It  was  a  se- 
vere one,  but  1  had  some  advantages. 
Each  nation  has  its  wisdom,  and  I 
had  studied  in  various  schools. 

"Being  a  linguist,  with  a  trained 
memory,  I  occasionally  backed  my 
replies  with  a  string  of  French,  Ger- 
man, English,  and  Italian  authorities 
that  looked  imposing. 

"  In  short,  I  did  pass  with  public 
applause,  and  cordial  felicitation  ; 
tliey  ([uite  feted  me.  Tlie  old  wel- 
comed me ;  the  young  escorted  me 
home,  and  flung  flowers  over  me  at 
my  door.  I  re-appeared  in  the  bal- 
cony, and  said  a  few  words  of  grati- 
tude to  them  and  their  noble  nation. 
They  cheered,  and  dispersed. 

"  My  heart  was  in  a  glow.  I  turn- 
ed my  eyes  toward  New  York  :  a 
fortnight  more,  and  my  parents  should 
greet  me  as  a  European  doctress,  if 
not  a  British. 

"  The  excitement  had  been  ton 
great;  I  sunk,  a  little  exhausted,  on 
the  sofa.  They  brouglit  me  a  letter. 
It  was  black-edged.  I  tore  it  open 
with  a  scream.  My  father  was 
dead." 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

"I  WAS  prostrated,  stupefied.  I 
don't  know  what  I  did,  or  how  long  I 
sat  there.  But  Cornelia  came  to  con- 
gratulate me,  and  found  me  there  like 
slone,  with  the  letter   in   my   hand. 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


Ill 


She  packed  up  my  clothes,  and  took 
me  home  with  her.  I  made  no  re- 
sistance. I  seemed  all  bioken  and 
limp,  soul  and  body,  and  not  a  tear 
that  day. 

"Oh,  sir,  how  small  every  thing 
seems  beside  bereavement!  My 
troubles,  my  insuhs,  were  nothing 
now ;  my  triunijih  notliing ;  for  I 
had  no  father  left  to  be  proud  of  it 
with  me. 

"I  wept  with  anguish  a  hundred 
times  a  day.  Why  had  I  left  New 
York  ?  AVliy  had  I  not  foreseen  ti)is 
every-day  calamity,  and  passed  every 
precious  hour  by  liis  side  I  was  to  lose? 

"Terror  seized  me.  ]\Iy  mother 
would  go  next.  No  life  of  any  value 
was  safe  a  day.  Death  did  not  wait 
for  disease.  It  killed  because  it  chose, 
and  to  sliow  its  contempt  of  hearts. 

"  But  just  as  I  was  ])rei)aring  to  go 
to  Havre,  they  brought  me  a  tele- 
gram. I  screamed  at  it,  and  put  up 
my  iiands.  I  said  '  No,  no ;'  I  would 
not  read  it,  to  be  told  my  mother  was 
dead.  I  would  have  her  a  few  min- 
utes longer.  Cornelia  read  it,  and 
said  it  was  from  lier.  I  fell  on  it, 
and  kissed  it.  Tlie  blessed  telegram 
told  she  was  coming  home.  I  was 
to  go  to  London  and  wait  for  her. 

"I  started.  Cornelia  paid  my 
fees,  and  put  my  diploma  in  my  box. 
/  cared  for  nothing  now  but  my  own 
flesh  and  blood — what  was  left  of  it — 
my  motlier. 

"  1  readied  London,  and  telegraph- 
ed my  address  to  my  mother,  and 
begged  lier  to  come  at  once  and  ease 
my  fears.  I  told  her  my  funds  were 
exhausted  ;  but,  of  course,  that  was 
not  the  thing  I  poured  out  my  heart 
about ;  so  I  dare  say  she  hardly  re- 
alized my  dcjilorable  condition — list- 
less and  bereaved,  alone  in  a  great 
city,  with  no  money. 

"  In  her  next  letter  she  begged  me 
to  be  patient.  8he  had  trouble  with 
her  husband's  executors  ;  she  would 
send  me  a  draft  as  soon  as  she  could  ; 
but  slie  would  not  leave,  and  let  her 
ciiiid  be  robbed. 


"By -and -by  the  landlady  pressed 
me  for  money.  I  gave  her  my  gowns 
and  sliawls  to  sell  for  me." 

"Goose!" 

"And  just  now  I  was  a  fox." 

"You  are  both.  But  so  is  every 
woman." 

"yhe  handed  me  a  few  shillings, 
by  way  of  balance.  I  lived  on  them 
till  they  went.  Then  I  starved  a  lit- 
tle." 

"With  a  ring  on  your  finger  you 
could  have  pawned  for  ten  guineas  !" 

"Pawn  my  ring!  My  father  gave 
it  me."  She  kissed  it  tendei'ly,  yet, 
to  Vizard,  half  defiantly. 

"Pawning  is  not  selling,  goose!" 
said  he,  getting  angry. 

"  But  1  must  have  parted  with  it." 

"And  you  preferred  to  starve  ?" 

"  I  preferred  to  starve,"  said  she, 
steadily. 

He  looked  at  her.  Her  eyes  faced 
his.  He  muttered  something,  and 
walked  away  three  steps  to  hide  un- 
reasonable sympathy.  He  came  back 
with  a  grand  display  of  cheerfulness. 
"Your  mother  will  be  here  next 
month,"  said  he,  "with  money  in 
both  pockets.  INIeantime  I  wish  you 
would  let  me  have  a  finger  in  the  pie 
— or,  rather  my  sister.  She  is  warm- 
hearted and  enthusiastic ;  she  shall 
call  on  vou,  if  vou  will  permit  it." 

"Is  she  like  you?" 

"Not  a  bit.  We  are  by  different 
mothers.  Hers  was  a  Greek,  and 
she  is  a  beautiful,  dark  girl." 

"  I  admire  beauty ;  but  is  she  like 
you — in — in — disposition?" 

"Lord!  no;  very  superior.  Not 
abominably  clever  like  yon,  but  ab- 
surdly good.  You  shall  judge  for 
yourself.  Oblige  me  with  your  ad- 
dress." 

The  doctress  wrote  her  address  with 
a  resigned  air,  as  one  who  had  found 
somebody  she  had  to  obey ;  ami,  as 
soon  as  he  had  got  it.  Vizard  gave 
her  a  sort  of  nervous  shake  of  tiie 
hand,  and  seemed  almost  in  a  hurry 
to  get  away  from  hei'.  But  this  was 
his  wav. 


112 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


She  would  have  been  amazed  if  she 
had  seen  liis  cliange  of  manner  tlie 
moment  he  got  among  his  own  peo- 
ple. 

lie  burst  in  on  them,  crying, 
"  Tliere — the  jirayers  of  this  congre- 
gation aie  requested  for  Harrington 
Vizard,  saddled  with  a  virago." 

"  Saddled  with  a  virago!"  scream- 
ed Fanny. 

"Saddled  with  a—!"  sighed  Zoe, 
faintly. 

"  Saddled  with  a  virago  for  life  !' 
shouted  Vizard,  with  a  loud  defiance 
that  seemed  needless,  since  nobody 
was  objecting  violently  to  liis  being 
saddled. 

"Look  here!"  said  he,  descending 
all  of  a  sudden  to  a  meek,  injured  air, 
wliich,  however,  did  not  last  very 
long,  "  1  was  in  the  garden  of  Leices- 
ter Square,  and  a  young  lady  turned 
faint.  I  observed  it,  and,  instead  of 
taking  tlie  hint  and  cutting,  I  offered 
assistance  —  ott"  my  guard,  as  usual. 
She  declined.  I  persisted  ;  proposed 
a  glass  of  wineorsiiirit.  She  declined, 
but  at  last  let  out  she  was  starving." 

"Oh!"  cried  Zoe. 

"Yes,  Zoe — starving.  A  woman 
more  learned,  more  scientific,  more 
eloipient,  more  offensive  to  a  fellow's 
vanity,  than  I  ever  saw,  or  even  read 
of — a  woman  of  geniux,  starving,  like 
a  genius  and  a  ninny,  with  a  ring  on 
her  finger  worth  thirty  guineas.  But 
my  learned  goose  would  not  raise  mon- 
ey on  that,  because  it  was  her  father's, 
and  he  is  dead." 

"Toor  thing!"  said  Zoe,  and  her 
eyes  glistened  directly. 

"It  is  hard,  Zoe,  isn't  it?  She  is 
a  physician — an  able  physician ;  has 
studied  at  Ziirich  and  at  Edinburgh, 
and  in  France,  and  has  a  French  di- 
ploma;  but  must  not  practice  in  En- 
gland, because  we  are  behind  the  Con- 
tinent in  laws  and  civilization — so  she 
says,  confound  her  impudence,  and 
my  folly  for  becoming  a  woman's 
echo!  But  if  I  were  to  tell  you  her 
whole  story,  your  blood  would  boil  at 
the  trickery,  and  dishonesty,  and  op- 


pression of  the  trades -union  which 
has  driven  this  gifted  creature  to  a 
foreign  school  for  education ;  and, 
now  that  a  foreign  nation  admits  her 
ability  and  crowns  her  with  honor, 
still  she  must  not  pratice  in  this  coun- 
try, because  she  is  a  woman,  and  we 
are  a  nation  of  half- civilized  men. 
That  is  her  chat,  you  understand,  not 
mine.  We  are  not  obliged  to  swallow 
all  that;  but,  turn  it  how  you  will, 
here  are  learning,  genius,  and  virtue 
starving.  We  must  get  her  to  accept 
a  little  money ;  that  means,  in  her 
case,  a  little  fire  and  food.  Zoe,  shall 
that  woman  go  to  bed  hungry  to- 
night?" 

"No,  never!"  said  Zoe,  warmly. 
"Let  me  think.     Otter  her  a  loan." 

"  Well  done ;  that  is  a  good  idea. 
Will  you  undertake  it?  She  will  be 
far  more  likely  to  accept.  She  is  a 
bit  of  a  prude  and  all,  is  my  virago." 

"Yes,  dear,  she  will.  Order  the 
carriage.  She  shall  not  go  to  bed 
hungry  —  nobody  shall  that  you  are 
intei'ested  in." 

"Oh,  after  dinner  will  do." 

Dinner  was  ordered  immediately, 
and  the  brougham  an  hour  after. 

At  dinner.  Vizard  gave  them  all  the 
outline  of  the  Edinburgh  struggle, 
and  the  jjros  and  cons  ;  during  which 
narrative  his  female  hearers  might 
have  been  observed  to  get  cooler  and 
cooler,  till  they  reached  the  zero  of 
perfect  apathy.  They  listened  in 
dead  silence ;  but  when  Harrington 
had  done,  Fanny  said  aside  to  Zoe, 
"  It  is  all  her  own  fault.  What  bus- 
iness have  women  to  set  up  for  doc- 
tors?" 

"Of course  not," said  Zoe;  "only 
we  must  not  say  so.  He  indulges  us 
in  our  whims.". 

Warm  partisan  of  immortal  justice, 
when  it  was  lucky  enough  to  be  back- 
ed by  her  attections.  Miss  Vizard  rose 
directly  after  dinner,  and,  with  a  fine 
imitation  of  ardor,  said  she  could  lose 
no  more  time — she  must  go  and  i)Ut 
on  her  bonnet.  ' '  You  will  come  with 
nie,  Fanny?" 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


113 


When  I  was  a  girl,  or  a  boy — I  for- 
get which,  it  is  so  long  ago — a  young 
hidy  thus  invited  by  an  afl'ectioiiate 
friend  used  to  do  one  of  two  things ; 
nine  times  out  of  ten  slie  sacrificed 
her  incHiiation,  and  went ;  the  tenth, 
slie  would  make  sweet,  engaging  ex- 
cuses, and  beg  oft".  But  the  girls  of 
this  day  liave  invented  "  silent  voli- 
tion." When  you  ask  them  to  do  any 
thing  they  don't  quite  like,  they  look 
you  in  the  face,  bland  but  full,  and 
neither  speak  7ior  move.  Miss  Dover 
was  a  proficient  in  tliis  graceful  form 
of  refusal  by  dead  silence,  and  resist- 
ance by  placid  inertia.  She  just  look- 
ed like  the  full  moon  in  Zoe's  face, 
and  never  budged.  Zoe,  being  also 
a  girl  of  the  day,  needed  no  interjire- 
tation.  "Oh,  very  well,"  said  slie, 
"disobliging  thing!"  —  with  perfect 
good  humor,  mind  you. 

Vizard,  however,  was  not  pleased. 

"You  go  with  her,  Ned,"  said  he. 
"Miss  Dover  prefers  to  stay  and 
smoke  a  cigar  with  me." 

Miss  Dover's  face  reddened,  but 
she  never  budged.  And  it  ended  in 
Zoe  taking  Severne  with  her  to  call 
on  lilioda  Gale. 

Kiioda  Gale  staid  in  the  garden 
till  sunset,  and  then  went  to  her  lodg. 
ings  slowly,  for  they  had  no  attraction 
—  a  dark  room;  no  supper;  a  hard 
landlady,  half  disposed  to  turn  her 
out. 

Dr.  Khoda  Gale  never  reflected 
much  in  the  streets  ;  they  were  to  her 
a  field  of  minute  observation ;  but, 
when  she  got  home,  she  sat  down  and 
thought  over  what  she  had  been  say- 
ing and  doing,  and  puzzled  over  the 
character  of  the  man  who  had  relieved 
her  hunger  and  elicited  her  autobiog- 
raphy. She  passed  him  in  review; 
settled  in  her  mind  that  he  was  a 
strong  character ;  a  manly  man,  who 
did  not  waste  words  ;  wondered  a  lit- 
tle at  the  way  he  had  made  her  do  ! 
wliatever  he  i)leased ;  blushed  a  little 
at  the  thought  of  having  been  so  com-  j 
municative;  yet  admired  the  man  for 
having  drawn  her  out  so;  and  won-  I 


dered  whether  she  should  see  him 
again.  She  hoped  she  should.  Eut 
she  did  not  feel  sure. 

She  sat  half  an  hour  thus — with  one 
knee  raised  a  little,  and  her  hands  in- 
terlaced— by  a  fire-place  with  a  burn- 
ed-out coal  in  it;  and  by-and-by  she 
felt  hungry  again.  But  she  had  no 
food,  and  no  money. 

She  looked  hard  at  her  ring,  and 
profited  a  little  by  contact  with  the 
sturdy  good  sense  of  Vizard. 

She  said  to  herself,  "Men  under- 
stand one  another.  I  believe  father 
would  be  angry  with  me  for  not." 

Then  she  lookad  tenderly  and  wist- 
fully at  the  ring,  and  kissed  it,  and 
murmured,  "  Not  to-night."  You  see 
she  hoped  she  might  have  a  letter  in 
the  morning,  and  so  respite  her  ling. 

Then  she  made  light  of  it,  and  said 
to  herself,  "No  matter;  'qui  dort, 
dine.'" 

But  as  it  was  early  for  bed,  and 
she  could  not  be  long  idle,  sipping 
no  knowledge,  she  took  up  the  last 
good  German  work  that  she  had 
bought  when  she  had  money,  and 
proceeded  to  read.  She  had  no  can- 
dle, but  she  had  a  lucifer- match  or 
two,  and  an  old  newspaper.  With 
this  she  made  long  spills,  and  ligiited 
one,  and  read  two  pages  by  that  pa- 
per torch,  and  lighted  another  before 
it  was  out,  and  then  another,  anil  so  on 
in  succession,  figiitiiig  for  knowledge 
against  poverty,  as  she  had  fougiit  for 
it  against  perfidy. 

While  she  was  thus  absorbed,  a 
carriage  drew  up  at  the  door.  Slie 
took  no  notice  of  that ;  but  presently 
there  was  a  rustling  of  silk  on  the 
stairs,  and  two  voices,  and  then  a  tap 
at  the  door.  "Come  in,"  said  she; 
and  Zoe  entered  just  as  the  last  spill 
burned  out. 

Kiioda  Gale  rose  in  a  dark  room ; 
but  a  gas-light  over  the  way  just  show- 
ed her  figure.  "Miss  Gale';:'''  said 
Zoe,  timidlv. 

"I  am  "JSriss  Gale,"  said  Rhoda, 
quietly,  but  firmly. 

"1  am  Jliss  Vizard— the  gentle- 


114 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


man's  sister  tliat  you  met  in  Leices- 
ter iSquaie  to-day;"  and  she  took  a 
cautious  step  toward  lier. 
Ilhoda's  cheelvs  burned. 
"Miss  Vizard,"  she  said,  "excuse 
my  receiving  yon  so ;  but  you  may 
have  heard  1  am  very  poor.  My  las"t 
candle  is  gone.  15ut  perhai)s  tlie 
landhidy  would  lend  me  one.  I  don't 
know.  She  is  very  disobliging,  and 
very  cruel." 

"  Then  she  shall  not  have  the  hon- 
or of  lending  you  a  candle,"  said  Zoe, 
M'ith  one  of  her  gushes.  "Now,  to 
tell  the  truth,"  said  she,  altering  to 
the  cheerful,  "I'm  rather  glad.  I 
would  rather  talk  to  j'ou  in  the  dark 
for  a  little,  just  at  first.  IVr.-iy  I?" 
By  this  time  she  had  gradually  crept 
up  to  Klioda. 

"I  am  afraid  you  must,"  said  Rlioda. 
"  But  at  least  I  can  offer  you  a  seat." 
Zoe  sat  down,  and  there  was  an 
awkward  silence. 

"Oh,  dear,"  said  Zoe;  "I  don't 
know  how  to  begin.  I  wish  you 
would  give  me  your  hand,  as  I  can't 
see  vour  face." 

"■'with  all  my  heart:  there." 
(Almost   in   a  whisper)  "He   has 
told  me." 

llhoda  put  the  other  hand  to  her 
face,  though  it  was  so  dark. 

"Oil,  Miss  G.ale,  how  could  vou  ? 
Only  think!  Suppose  you  liad  killed 
yourself,  or  made  yourself  very  ill. 
Your  mother  would  have  come  direct- 
ly and  found  you  so;  and  only  think 
how  unhappy  you  would  have  made 
her. " 

"Can  I  have  forgotten  my  moth- 
er?" asked  Illioda  of  herself,  but 
aloud. 

"Not  willfully,  I  am  sure.  But 
you  know  geniuses  ai-e  not  alwavs 
wise  in  these  little  things.  Thev 
want  some  good  humdrum  soul  to 
advise  them  in  the  common  affairs 
of  life.  That  want  is  supplied  you 
now:  for /am  here — ha-ha!" 

"You  are  no  more  commonplace 
than  I  am ;  much  less  now,  I'll  be 
bound." 


"We  will  put  that  to  the  test." 
said  Zoe,  adroitly  enough.  "3fy 
view  of  all  this  is  —  that  here  is  "a 
young  lady  in  want  of  money  /or  a 
time,  as  every  body  is  now  and  then, 
and  that  the  sensible  course  is  to  bor- 
row some  till  your  mother  comes  over 
with  her  ai>ronful  of  dollars.  Now,  I 
have  twenty  pounds  to  lend,  and,  if 
you  are  so  mighty  sensible  as  you  say, 
you  won't  refuse  to  borrow  it." 

"Oh,  Miss  Vizard,  aou  are  very 
good;  but  I  am  afraid  and  ashamed 
to  borrow.     I  never  did  such  a  thing." 

"Time  you  began,  then.  /  have 
— often.  But  it  is  no  use  arguing. 
You  7nust — or  you  will  get  poor  me 
finely  scolded.  Perhaps  he  was  on 
his  good  behavior  with  you,  being  a 
stranger;  but  at  home  they  expect 
to  be  obeyed.  He  will  be  sure  to 
say  it  was  my  stupidity,  and  that  he 
would  have  made  vou  directlv." 

"Do  tell!"  cried  Rhoda,  surprised 
into  an  idiom;  "as  if  I'd  have  taken 
money  from  /lim .'" 

"  Why,  of  course  not ;  but  between 
us  it  is  nothing  at  all.  There:"  and 
slie  put  the  money  into  Rhoda's  hand, 
and  then  held  both  hand  and  money 
rather  tightly  imprisoned  in  her  larger 
palm,  and  began  to  chatter,  so  as  to 
leave  the  other  no  opening.  "Oh, 
blessed  daikness !  how  easy  it  makes 
things!  does  it  not?  I  am" glad  there 
was  no  candle ;  we  should  have  been 
fencing  and  blushing  ever  so  long, 
and  made  such  a  fuss  about  nothing 
—and—" 

Til  is  prattle  was  inteiTupted  by  Rho- 
da Gale  putting  her  right  wrist  round 
Zoe's  neck,  and  laying  her  forehead 
on  her  shoulder  with  a  little  sob.  So 
then  they  both  distilled  the  inevitable 
dew-drops. 

But  as  Rhoda  was  not  much  given 
that  way,  she  started  up,  and  said, 
"Darkness?  No;  I  must  see  the 
face  that  has  come  here  to  help  me, 
and  not  humiliate  me.  That  is  the 
first  use  I'll  make  of  the  money.  I 
am  afraid  you  are  rather  ))lain,  or 
you  couldn't  be  so  good  as  all  this." 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


115 


"No,"  said  Zoe.  "I'm  not  reck- 
oned plain  ;  only  as  black  as  a  coal." 

"All  the  more  to  my  taste,"  said 
Rhoda,  and  flew  out  of  the  room, 
and  nearly  stumbled  over  a  figure 
seated  on  a  step  of  the  staircase. 
"Who  are  you  ?"  said  she,  sharply. 

"My  name  is  Severne." 

"And  what  are  you  doing  there?" 

"Waiting  for  Miss  Vizard." 

"Come  in,  then." 

"She  told  me  not." 

"Then  I  tell  you  to.  The  idea! 
Miss  Vizard!" 

"Yes!" 

' '  Please  have  Mr.  Severne  in.  Here 
he  is  sitting — like  Grief — on  tlie  steps. 
I  will  soon  be  back." 

Slie  flew  to  the  landlady.  "IMrs. 
Grip,  I  want  a  candle." 

"Well,  the  shops  are  open,"  said 
the  woman,  rudely. 

"  Oh,  I  have  no  time.  Here  is  a 
sovereign.  Please  give  me  two  can- 
dles directly,  candlesticks  and  all." 

The  woman's  manner  changed  di- 
rectly. 

"  You  shall  have  them  this  moment, 
miss,  and  my  own  candlesticks,  which 
tiiey  are  plated." 

She  brought  them,  and  advised  her 
only  to  light  one.  "They  don't  car- 
ry well,  miss,"  said  she.  "  They  are 
wax — or  summat." 

"Tlien  they  are  snmmat,"said  Miss 
Gale,  after  a  single  glance  at  their 
composition. 

"I'll  make  you  a  nice  hot  supjicr, 
miss,  in  half  an  hour,"  said  tlie  wom- 
an, maternally,  as  if  she  were  going 
to  give  it  her. 

"  No,  thank  yon.  Bring  mo  a  two- 
penny loaf,  and  a  scuttle  of  coals." 

"La,  miss,  no  more  than  that — 
out  of  a  sov'  ?" 

"Yes — THE  CHANGK." 

Having  shown  ]\Irs.  Grip  her  fii- 
ther  was  a  Yankee,  she  darted  up- 
stairs with  her  candles.  Zoe  came 
to  meet  her,  and  literally  dazzled 
her. 

Riioda  st.ared  at  her  with  amaze- 
ment and   growing   rapture.     "Oil, 


you  beauty!"   she   cried,  and  drank 
her  in  from  head  to  foot. 

"Well,"  said  she,  drawing  a  long 
breath,  "Nature,  you  have  turned 
out  a  co?n -plete  article  this  time,  I 
reckon."  Then,  as  Severne  laughed 
merrily  at  this,  she  turned  her  can- 
dle and  her  eyes  full  on  him  very 
briskly.  She  looked  at  him  for  a 
moment,  with  a  gratified  eye  at  his 
comeliness;  then  she  started.  "Oh!" 
she  cried. 

He  received  the  inspection  merrily, 
till  she  uttered  tiiat  ejaculation,  then 
he  started  a  little,  and  stared  at  her. 

' '  We  have  met  before, "  said  she, 
almost  tenderly. 

"  Have  we?"  said  he,  putting  on  a 
mystified  air. 

She  fixed  him,  and  looked  him 
through  and  through.  "You  — 
don't  —  remember  —  me?"  asked  she. 
Then,  after  giving  him  plenty  of  time 
to  answer,  "Well,  then,  I  must  be 
mistaken  ;"  and  her  words  seemed  to 
freeze  themselves  and  her  as  they  fell. 

She  turned  her  back  on  him,  and 
said  to  Zoe,  with  a  good  deal  of 
sweetness  and  weight,  "I  have  lived 
to  see  goodness  and  beauty  united. 
I  will  never  despair  of  human  nat- 
ure." 

This  was  too  point-blank  for  Zoe ; 
she  blushed  crimson,  and  said,  arch- 
ly, "  I  think  it  is  time  for  me  to  run. 
Oh,  but  I  forgot;  here  is  my  card. 
We  are  all  at  tiiat  hotel.  If  I  am  so 
very  attractive,  you  will  come  and  see 
me — we  leave  town  very  soon — will 
you  ?" 

"  I  will,"  said  Rhoda. 

"And  since  jou  took  me  for  an  old 
acquaintance,  I  hope  you  will  treat 
me  as  one,"  said  Severne,  with  con- 
summate grace  and  assurance. 

"I  will,  si>,"  said  she,  icily,  and 
with  a  marvelous  curl  of  the  lip  that 
did  not  escape  him. 

She  lighted  them  down  the  stairs, 
gazed  after  Zoe,  and  ignored  Severne 
altogether. 


110 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


CIIArTER  XV. 

Going  liome  in  tlie  carriage,  Zdc 
was  silent,  but  Severne  tali<ed  nine- 
teen to  the  dozen.  Had  liis  object 
been  to  liinder  his  companion's  mind 
from  dwelling  too  long  on  one  thing, 
he  could  not  have  rattled  tiie  dice  of 
small  talk  more  industriously.  His 
words  would  fdl  pages ;  his  to|)ics 
were,  that  Miss  Gale  was  an  extraor- 
dinary woman,  but  too  masculine  for 
his  taste,  and  had  made  her  own  trou- 
bles setting  up  doctress,  when  her  true 
line  was  governess  —  lor  boys.  He 
was  also  glib  and  satirical  upon  that 
favorite  butt,  a  friend. 

"Who  but  a  soi-disant  woman- 
hater  would  pick  up  a  strange  virago, 
and  send  his  sister  to  her  with  twenty 
pounds  ?  I'll  tell  you  wiuU  it  is,  Miss 
Vizard—" 

Here  Miss  Vizard,  who  had  sat 
dead  silent  under  a  flow  of  words, 
which  is  merely  indicated  above,  laid 
her  hand  on  his  arm  to  stop  the  flux 
for  a  moment,  and  said,  quietly,  "Z>o 
YOU  know  her?  tell  me." 

"  Know  her !     How  should  I  ?" 

"I  thought  you  might  have  met 
her — abroad." 

"  Well,  it  is  possible,  of  course,  but 
very  unlikely.  If  I  did,  I  never  s])oke 
to  her,  or  I  should  have  remembered 
her.     Dont  you  think  so  ?" 

"She  seemed  A'ery  positive;  and  I 
think  she  is  an  accurate  person.  She 
seemed  quite  surjjrised  and  mortified 
when  you  said  'No.'  " 

"Well,  you  know,  of  course  it  is 
a  mortifying  thing  when  a  lady  claims 
a  gentleman's  acquaintance,  and  the 
gentleman  doesn't  admit  it.  But 
what  could  I  do?  I  couldn't  tell  a 
lie  about  it — could  I  ?" 

"Of  course  not." 

"I  was  otf  my  guard,  and  rudish  ; 
but  you  were  not.  What  tact!  what 
delicacy !  what  high  breeding  and 
angelic  benevolence !  And  so  clever, 
too!" 

"Oh,  fie!  you  listened!" 

"  You  left  the  door  ajar,  and  I  could 


not  bear  to  lose  a  word  that  dropped 
from  those  li])s  so  near  me.  Yes,  I 
listened,  and  got  such  a  lesson  as  only 
a  noble,  gentle  lady  could  give,  i 
shall  never  forget  your  womanly  art, 
and  tiie  way  you  contrived  to  make 
tiic  benefaction  sound  nothing.  '  We 
are  all  of  us  at  low  water  in  turns, 
and  for  a  time,  especially  me,  Zoe 
Vizard;  so  here's  a  trifling  loan.'  A 
loan  !  you'll  never  see  a  shilling  of  it 
again  !  No  matter.  What  do  angels 
want  of  money  ?' 

"Oh,  prav,"  said  Zoe,  "you  make 
mo  blush!"" 

"Then  I  wish  there  was  more  light 
to  see  it  —  yes,  an  angel.  Ho  you 
think  I  can't  see  you  have  done  all 
tliis  for  a  lady  you  do  not  really  ap- 
prove ?     Fancy — a  she-doctor ! " 

"JNIy  dear  friend,"  said  Zoe,  with 
a  little  juvenile  pomposity,  "one 
ought  not  to  judge  one's  intellectual 
suj)eriors  hastily,  and  this  lady  is 
ours  " — then,  gliding  back  to  herself, 
"and  it  is  my  nature  to  ajiprove  what 
tliose  I  love  approve — when  it  is  not 
downright  wrong,  you  know." 

"Oh,  of  course  it  is  not  wrong;  but 
is  it  wise  ?" 

Zoe  did  not  answer :  the  question 
puzzled  her. 

"Come,"  said  he,  "  I'll  be  frank, 
and  speak  out  in  time.  I  don't  think 
you  know  your  brother  Harrington. 
He  is  very  inflammable." 

"Inflammable!  What!  Harring- 
ton? Well,  yes  ;  for  I've  seen  smoke 
issue  from  his  mouth — ha!  ha!" 

"Ha!  ha!  Ill  pass  that  off  for 
mine,  some  day  when  you  are  not  by. 
But,  seriously,  your  brother  is  the 
very  man  to  make  a  fool  of  himself 
with  a  certain  kind  of  woman.  He 
despises  the  whole  sex  —  in  theory, 
and  he  is  very  hard  upon  ordinary 
women,  and  does  not  appreciate  their 
good  qualities.  But,  when  he  meets 
a  remarkable  woman,  he  catches  fire 
like  tow.  He  fell  in  love  with  I\Iade- 
moiselle  Klosking." 

"Oh,  not  in  love!" 

"I  beg  your  pardon.     Now,  this  is 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


117 


between  you  and  me — he  was  in  love 
with  her,  madly  in  love.  He  was 
only  saved  by  our  coming  away.  If 
those  two  had  met  and  made  acquaint- 
ance, he  would  have  been  at  her  mer- 
c}'.  I  don't  say  any  harm  would  have 
come  of  it ;  but  I  do  say  that  would 
have  depended  on  the  woman,  and 
not  on  the  man." 

Zoe  looked  very  serious,  and  said 
nothing.  But  her  long  silence  show- 
ed him  his  words  had  told. 

"And  now,"  said  he,  after  a  judi- 
cious pause,  "here  is  another  remark- 
able woman ;  the  last  in  the  world  I 
should  fancy,  or  Vizard  either,  per- 
haps, if  he  met  her  in  society.  But 
the  whole  thing  occurs  in  tlie  way  to 
catch  him.  He  finds  a  lady  fainting 
with  hunger ;  lie  feeds  her ;  and  tliat 
softens  his  heart  to  her.  Then  she 
tells  him  tlie  old  story — victim  of  the 
world's  injustice— and  he  is  deeply  in- 
terested in  her.  She  can  see  tliat ; 
she  is  as  keen  as  a  razor.  If  those 
two  meet  a  few  more  times,  he  will 
be  at  her  mercy ;  and  then  won't  she 
throw  physic  to  the  dogs,  and  jmnj) 
at  a  husband  six  feet  high,  and  twelve 
tliousand  acres  !  I  don't  study  wom- 
en with  a  microscope,  as  otn*  woman- 
hater  does,  but  I  notice  a  few  things 
about  them ;  and  one  is,  that  their 
eccentricities  all  give  way  at  the  first 
ofler  of  marriage.  I  believe  they  are 
only  adopted  in  desperation,  to  get 
married.  What  beautiful  woman  is 
ever  eccentric?  catch  her!  she  can 
get  a  husband  without.  That  doc- 
tress  will  j)rescribe  Harrington  a  wed- 
ding-ring ;  and,  if  he  swallows  it,  it 
will  be  her  last  prescription.  She  will 
send  out  for  the  family  doctor  after 
that,  like  other  wives." 

"You  alarm  me,"  said  Zoe.  "Pray 
do  not  make  me  unjust.  This  is  a 
lady  with  a  fine  mind,  and  not  a  de- 
signing woman." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  say  she  has  laid  any 
plans ;  but  these  things  aic  always 
extemporized  the  moment  the  chance 
comes.  You  can  cotmt  beforehand 
on  the  instincts  of  everv  woman  who 


is  clever  and  needy,  and  on  Vizard's 
peculiar  weakness  for  women  out  of 
the  common.  He  is  hard  upon  the 
whole  sex ;  but  he  is  no  match  for 
individuals.  He  owned  as  much  him- 
self to  me  one  day.  You  are  not  an- 
gry with  me!"  • 

"  No,  no.     Angry  with  you  ?" 

"It  is  you  I  think  of  in  all  this. 
He  is  a  fine  fellow,  and  you  are  proud 
of  him.  I  wouldn't  have  him  mar- 
ry to  mortify  you.  Por  myself,  while 
the  sister  honors  me  with  her  regard, 
I  really  don't  much  care  who  has  the 
brother  and  the  acres.  I  have  the 
best  of  the  bargain." 

Zoe  disputed  this — in  order  to  make 
him  say  it  several  times. 

He  did,  and  proved  it  in  terms  that 
made  her  cheeks  red  with  modesty 
and  gratified  pride;  and  by  the  time 
they  had  got  home,  he  had  flattered 
every  thing  but  pride,  love,  and  hap- 
piness out  of  her  heart,  poor  girl. 

The  world  is  like  the  Law,  full  of 
ini])lied  contracts :  we  give  and  take, 
without  openly  agreeing  to.  Subtle 
Severne  counted  on  this,  and  was  not 
disajjpointed.  Zoe  rewarded  him  for 
his  jiraises,  and  her  happiness,  by  fall- 
ing into  his  views  about  Rhoda  Gale. 
Only  she  did  it  in  her  own  lady-like 
way,  and  not  plump. 

She  came  uj)  to  Harrington  and 
kissed  him,  anil  said,  "Thank  you, 
dear,  for  sending  me  on  a  good  er- 
rand. I  fouiid  her  in  a  very  mean 
apartment,  without  fire  or  candle." 

"  I  thought  as  much,"  said  Vizard. 

"  Did  she  take  the  money  ?" 

"  Yes — as  a  loan." 

"Make  anv  diificulties?" 

"A  little,  dear." 

Severne  ])ut  in  his  word.  "Now, 
if  you  want  to  know  all  the  tact  and 
delicacy  with  which  it  was  done,  you 
must  come  to  me  ;  for  Miss  Vizard  is 
not  going  to  give  you  any  idea  of  it." 

"Be  (|uiet,  sir,  or  I  shall  be  very 
angry.  1  lent  her  the  money,  dear, 
and  her  troubles  are  at  an  end ;  for 
her  mother  will  certainly  join  her  be- 
I'urc  she  has  spent  your  twenty  pounds. 


118 


A  WOxMAN-lIATEK. 


Oh  !  and  slie  liad  not  pnrted  with  her 
ling  ;    tiiiU  is  a  fonifort,  is  it  not  ?" 

"  You  are  a  good-hearted  girl,  Zee," 
said  Vizard,  approvingly;  then,  recov- 
ering himself,  "IJut  don't  you  be 
blinded  by  sentiment.  She  deserves 
a  good  hiding  for  not  parting  with  her 
ring.  Where  is  the  sense  of  starving, 
with  thirty  pounds  on  your  linger?" 

Zoe  smiled,  and  said  his  words  were 
harder  than  his  deeds. 

"Because  he  doesn't  mean  a  word 
he  says,"  put  in  Fanny  Dover,  uneasy 
at  the  long  cessation  of  her  tongue, 
for  all  conversation  with  Don  Cigar 
had  jiroved  impracticable. 

"Are  you  there  still,  my  Lady  Dis- 
dain ?"  said  Vizard.  "I  thought  you 
were  gone  to  bed." 

' '  You  might  well  think  that.  I  had 
nothing  to  keep  me  up." 

Said  Zoe,  rather  smartly,  "  Oh  yes, 
you  had  —  Curiosity;"  then,  turning 
to  her  brother,  "In  short,  you  make 
your  mind  quite  easy.  You  have  lent 
your  money,  or  given  it,  to  a  worthy 
j)erson,  but  a  little  wrong-headed. 
However" — with  a  telegrajjliic  glance 
at  Severne — "she  is  very  accom- 
plished ;  a  linguist :  she  need  never 
be  in  want ;  and  she  will  soon  have 
lier  mother  to  help  her  and  advise 
her.  Perhaps  IMrs.  Gale  has  an  in- 
come ;  if  not.  Miss  Gale,  w  ith  her 
abilities,  w-ili  easily  find  a  place  in 
some  house  of  business,  or  else  take 
to  teaching.  If  I  was  them,  I  would 
set  up  a  school." 

Unanimity  is  rare  in  this  world ; 
but  Zoe's  good  sense  carried  every 
vote.  Her  prompter,  Severne,  nod- 
ded approval.  Fanny  said,  "  Why, 
of  course;"  and  Vizard,  who,  it  was 
feared,  might  prove  refractory,  assent- 
ed even  more  warmly  than  the  others. 
"Yes,"  said  he,  "  that  will  be  the  end 
of  it.  You  relieve  me  of  a  weight. 
Really,  when  she  told  me  that  fable 
of  learning  maltreated,  honorable  am- 
bition punished,  justice  balHed  by 
trickery,  and  virtue  vilified,  and  did 
not  cry  like  the  rest  of  you,  except 
at  her  father  dying  in  New  York  the 


day  she  won  her  dijiloma  at  Montpe- 
lier,  I  forgave  the  ]joor  girl  her  jiet- 
ticoats;  indeed,  I  lost  sight  of  them. 
She  seemed  to  me  a  very  brave  little 
fellow,  damnably  ill  used,  and  I  said, 
'This  is  not  to  be  borne.  Here  is  a 
fight,  and  justice  down  under  dirty 
feet.'  What,  ho !"  (roaring at  the  top 
of  his  voice). 

Zoe  and  Funny  (screaming,  and 
pinching  Ned  Severne  right  and  left). 
"Ah!  ah!" 

"  Vizard  to  the  rescue!" 

"But,  with  the  evening,  cool  re- 
flection came.  A  sister,  youthfid,  but 
suddenly  sagacious  (with  a  gleam  of 
suspicion),  very  suddenly  has  stilled 
the  waves  of  romance,  and  the  lips  of 
beauty  have  uttered  common  sense. 
Shall  they  utter  it  in  vain?  Never! 
It  may  be  years  before  they  do  it 
again.  We  must  not  slight  rare  phe- 
nomena. Zoe  locuta  est — Eccentrici- 
ty must  be  suppressed.  Doctresses, 
warned  by  a  little  starvation,  must 
take  the  world  as  it  is,  and  teach  little 
girls  and  boys  languages,  and  j)hysic 
them  with  arithmetic  and  the  globes  : 
these  be  drugs  that  do  not  kill ;  they 
only  make  life  a  burden.  1  don't 
think  we  have  laid  out  our  twenty 
pounds  badly,  Zoe,  and  there  is  an 
end  of  it.  The  incident  is  emptied, 
as  the  French  say,  and  (lighting  bed- 
candles)  the  ladies  retire  with  the  hon- 
ors of  war.  "Zoe  has  uttered  good 
sense,  and  INIiss  Dover  has  done  the 
ne.\t  best  thing ;  she  has  said  verv  lit- 
tle—" 

Miss  Dover  shot  in  contemptuously, 
"I  had  no  companion — " 

— "For  want  of  a  fool  to  speak  her 
mind  to." 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

Ingenious  Mr.  Severne  having 
done  his  best  to  detach  the  poor  doc- 
tress  from  Vizard  and  his  family,  in 
which  the  reader  probably  discerns 
his  true  motive,  now  bent  his  mind 
on   slipping   back   to   Homburg  and 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


119 


looking  after  liis  mone\'.  Not  that 
lie  liked  the  job.  To  get  hold  of  it, 
he  knew  he  must  condense  rascality ; 
he  must  play  the  penitent,  the  lover, 
and  the  scoundrel  over  again,  all  in 
three  days. 

Now,  though  his  egotism  was  bru- 
tal, he  was  human  in  this,  that  he  had 
])]enty  of  good  nature  skin-deep,  and 
superficial  sensibilities,  which  made 
iiim  shrink  a  little  fiom  tliis  hot- 
j)ressed  rascality  and  barbarity.  On 
the  other  hand,  he  was  urged  by  pov- 
erty, and,  laughable  as  it  may  appear, 
by  jealousy.  He  had  observed  that 
the  best  of  women,  if  they  are  not 
only  abandoned  by  him  tliey  love,  but 
also  flattered  and  adored  by  scores, 
will  sometimes  yield  to  the  joint  at- 
tacks of  desolation,  pique,  vanity,  etc. 

In  this  state  of  fluctuation  he  made 
up  his  mind  so  far  as  tliis :  he  would 
manage  so  as  to  be  able  to  go. 

Even  this  demanded  caution.  So 
he  began  by  throwing  out,  in  a  seem- 
ing careless  way,  that  he  ought  to  go 
down  into  Huntingdonshire. 

' '  Of  course  you  ought, "  said  Vizard. 

No  objection  was  taken,  and  they 
rather  tliought  he  would  go  next  day. 
But  that  was  not  his  game.  It  would 
never  do  to  go  while  they  were  in 
London.  So  he  kept  postponing,  and 
saying  he  would  not  tear  himself 
away ;  and  at  last,  the  day  before 
they  v.'cre  to  go  down  to  Jlarford- 
shire,  he  afiected  to  yield  to  a  remon- 
strance of  Vizard,  and  said  he  would 
see  them  oflP,  and  then  run  down  to 
Huntingdonshire,  look  into  his  afJaiis, 
and  cross  the  country  to  Harfordshirc. 

"You  might  take  llombui'g  on  the 
way," said  Fanny,  out  of  fini — her  fun 
— not  really  meaning  it. 

Severne  cast  a  piteous  look  at  Zoe. 
"For  shame,  Fanny!"  said  she.  "And 
why  ])ut  Ilombiirg  into  liis  head?" 

"When  I  \vm\  forgotten  tliere  was 
such  a  ])lace,"  said  Mr.  Severne,  tak- 
ing his  cue  dexterously  from  Zoe,  and 
feigning  innocent  amazement.  Zoe 
colored  with  pleasure.  This  was  at 
breakfast.     At   afternoon   tea   some- 


thing happened.  The  ladies  were  up- 
stairs packing,  an  operation  on  which 
they  can  bestow  as  many  hours  as  the 
thing  needs  minutes.  One  servant 
brought  in  the  tea ;  another  came  in 
soon  after  with  a  card,  and  said  it  was 
for  Miss  Vizard ;  but  he  brought  it 
to  Harrington.     He  read  it : 

"Miss  Riioda  Gale,  M.D." 

"Send  it  up  to  Miss  Vizard,"  said 
he.  The  man  was  going  out :  lie 
stopped  him,  and  said,  "  You  can 
show  the  lady  in  here,  all  the  same." 

Khoda  Gale  was  ushered  in.  She 
had  a  new  gown  and  bonnet,  not 
showy,  but  very  nice.  She  colored 
faintly  at  sight  of  the  two  gentlemen  ; 
but  Vizard  soon  put  her  at  her  ease. 
He  shook  hands  with  her,  and  said, 
"Sit  down,  INIiss  Gale;  my  sister  will 
soon  be  here.  1  have  sent  your  card 
u])  to  her." 

"Shall  I  tell  her?"  said  Severne, 
with  the  manner  of  one  eager  to  be 
agreeable  to  the  visitor. 

"If  you  please,  sir,"  said  Miss 
Gale. 

Severne  went  out  zealously,  darted 
up  to  Zoe's  room,  knocked,  and  said, 
"  Pray  come  down  :  here  is  that  doc- 
tress." 

IMeantime,  Jack  was  giving  Gill  the 
card,  and  Gill  was  giving  it  Mary  to 
give  to  the  lady.  It  got  to  Zoe's 
room  in  a  quarter  of  an  hour. 

"Any  news  from  mamma?"  asked 
Vizard,  in  his  blunt  wav. 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  Good  news  ?" 

"Xo.  My  mother  writes  mc  tliat 
I  must  not  ex])cct  her.  She  has  to 
fight  with  a  disiionest  executor.  Oh, 
money,  money  !" 

At  that  moment  Zoe  entered  the 
room,  but  Severne  i)aced  the  landing. 
He  did  not  care  to  face  Miss  Ciale; 
and  even  in  that  short  interval  of  time 
he  had  persuaded  Zoe  to  protect  her 
brother  against  tliis  formidable  young 
lady,  and  shorten  the  interview  if  she 
could. 


120 


A  WOMAN-IIATEU. 


So  Zoo  entered  tlic  looin  bristling 
witii  defense  ot'iicr  brother.  At  sight 
of  her,  Miss  Gale  rose,  and  her  fe;it- 
nies  literally  shone  with  ])leasure. 
This  Avas  rather  disarming  to  one  so 
amiable  as  Zoe,  and  she  was  surprised 
into  smiling  sweetly  in  return  ;  but 
still  her  quick,  defensive  eye  drank 
Miss  Gale  on  the  spot,  and  saw,  with 
alarm,  the  improvement  in  her  ap- 
pearance. !She  was  very  healthy,  as 
indeed  she  deserved  to  be;  for  she 
was  singularly  temjjerate,  drank  noth- 
ing but  water  and  weak  tea  without 
sugar,  and  never  cat  nor  drank  except 
at  honest  meals.  Her  youth  and 
pure  constitution  had  shaken  oft'  all 
that  pallor,  and  the  jileasure  of  seeing 
Zoe  lent  her  a  lovely  color.  Zoe 
microscoped  her  in  one  moment :  not 
one  beautiful  feature  in  her  whole 
face;  eyes  full  of  intellect,  but  not  in 
tiie  least  love-darting  ;  nose,  an  aqui- 
line steadily  I'eversed  ;  mouth,  vastly 
exi)ressive,  but  large ;  teeth,  even  and 
white,  but  ivory,  not  pearl ;  chin, 
ordinary  j  head  symmetrical,  and  set 
on  with  grace.  I  may  add,  to  com- 
jilete  the  picture,  that  she  had  a  way 
of  turning  this  head,  clean,  swift,  and 
liird-like,  wiiiiout  turning  her  body. 
That  familiar  action  of  hers  was  line 
— so  full  of  fire  and  intelligence. 

Zoe  settled  in  one  moment  that  she 
was  downright  plain,  but  might  prob- 
ably be  that  mysterious  and  incom- 
I)rehensible  and  dangerous  creature, 
"a  gentleman's  beauty,"  which,  to 
women,  means  no  beauty  at  all,  but  a 
witch-like  creature,  that  goes  and  hits 
foul,  and  eclipses  real  beauty — dolls, 
to  wit — by  some  mysterious  magic. 

"Tray  sit  down,"  said  Zoe,  form- 
ally. Illioda  sat  down,  and  hesitated 
a  moment.     She  felt  a  frost. 

Vizard  helped  her,  "  Miss  Gale  has 
heard  from  her  mother." 

"Yes,  Miss  Vizard,"  said  Khoda, 
timidly;  "and  very  bad  news.  She 
can  not  come  at  present ;  and  I  am 
so  distressed  at  what  I  have  done  in 
borrowing  that  money  of  you ;  and 
see,  1  have  sjjcnt  nearly  three  pounds 


of  it  in  dress;    but  I  have   brouglit 
the  rest  back." 

Zoe  looked  at  her  brother,  perplex- 
ed. 

"  Stuffand  nonsense !"  said  Vizard. 
"  You  will  not  take  it,  Zoe." 

"Oh  yes;  if  you  please,  do,"  said 
Rhoda  still  to  Zoe.  "When  I  bor- 
rowed it,  I  felt  sure  I  could  repay  it ; 
but  it  is  not  so  now.  My  mother 
says  it  may  be  months  before  she  can 
come,  and  she  forbids  me  positively 
to  go  to  her.  Oh !  but  for  that,  I'd 
]jut  on  boy's  clothes,  and  go  as  a  com- 
mon sailor  to  get  to  her." 

Vizard  fidgeted  on  his  chair, 

"I  supi)ose  I  mustn't  go  in  a  pas- 
sion," said  he,  dryly. 

"Who  cares?"  said  Miss  Gale, 
turning  her  head  sharply  on  him  in 
the  way  I  have  tiied  to  desciihc. 

"I  care,"  said  Vizard.  "I  find 
wrath  interfere  with  my  digestion. 
Please  go  on,  and  tell  us  what  your 
mother  says.  She  has  more  common 
sense  than  somebody  else  I  won't 
name — politeness  forbids." 

"Well,  who  doubts  that?"  said  the 
ladv,  with  frank  good  humor.  "Of 
course  she  has  more  sense  than  any 
of  us.  Well,  my  mother  says  —  oli, 
Miss  Vizard!" 

"No,  she  doesn't  now,  Siie  never 
heard  the  name  of  Vizard." 

Miss  Gale  was  in  no  humor  for 
feeble  jokes.  She  turned  half  angrily 
away  from  him  to  Zoe.  "She  says  I 
have  been  well  educated,  and  know 
languages ;  and  we  are  both  under  a 
cloud,  and  I  had  better  give  up  all 
thought  of  medicine,  and  take  to 
teaching." 

"Well,  Miss  Gale,"  said  Zoe,  "if 
you  ask  7iie,  1  must  say  I  think  it  is 
good  advice.  With  all  your  gifts, 
how  can  j'ou  fight  the  world  ?  We 
are  all  interested  in  you  here  ;  and  it 
is  a  curious  thing,  but  do  you  know 
we  agreed  the  otiier  day  you  would 
have  to  give  up  medicine,  and  fall 
into  some  occupation  in  which  there 
are  many  ladies  already  to  keep  you 
in  countenance.     'J'eaching  was  men- 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


121 


tioned,  I  think ;  was  it  not,  Harring- 
ton?" 

Rhoda  Gale  siglied  deeply. 

"I  am  not  surprised,"  said  she. 
"Most  women  of  the  world  think 
with  you.  But  oh,  Miss  Vizard, 
please  take  into  account  all  that  I 
have  done  and  suft'ered  for  medicine ! 
Is  all  that  to  go  for  nothing  ?  Tiiink 
what  a  hitter  thing  it  must  be  to  do, 
and  then  to  undo  ;  to  labor  and  study, 
and  then  knock  it  all  down — to  cut  a 
slice  out  of  one's  life,  out  of  the  very 
heart  of  it — and  throw  it  clean  away. 
I  know  it  is  liard  for  you  to  enter  into 
tiie  feelings  of  any  one  who  loves 
science,  and  is  told  to  desert  it.  But 
suppose  you  had  loved  a  vian  you 
were  proud  of — loved  him  for  five 
years  —  and  then  they  came  to  you 
and  said,  '  There  are  difficulties  in 
the  way  ;  he  is  as  worthy  as  ever,  and 
he  will  never  desert  you;  but  you 
must  give  him  up,  and  try  and  get  a 
taste  for  human  rubbish:  it  will  only 
be  five  3'ears  of  wasted  life,  wasted 
youth,  wasted  seed-time,  wasted  af- 
fection, and  then  a  long  vegetable  life 
of  unavailing  regrets.'  I  love  science 
as  other  women  love  men.  If  I  am 
to  give  up  science,  why  not  die? 
Then  I  shall  not  feel  my  loss ;  and  I 
know  how  to  die  without  pain.  Oil, 
the  world  is  cruel !  Ah !  I  am  too 
unfortunate!  Every  boily  else  is  re- 
warded for  patience,  prudence,  tem- 
perance, industry,  and  a  life  witii  high 
and  almost  holy  aims;  but  I  am  pun- 
ished, afHicted,  crushed  under  the  in- 
justice of  the  day.  Do  not  make  me 
a  inirse-maid.  1  won't  he  a  govern- 
ess ;  and  I  must  not  die,  because  that 
would  grieve  my  mother.  Have  pity 
on  me!  have  pity!" 

She  trembled  all  over,  and  stretch- 
ed out  her  hands  to  Zoe  with  truly 
touching  supplication. 

Zoe  forgot  her  jiart,  or  lost  the  pow- 
er to  j)lay  it  well.  She  turned  her 
head  away,  and  would  not  assent ;  but 
two  large  tears  rolled  out  of  her  beau- 
tiful eyes.  Miss  Gale,  who  had  risen 
in  the  ardor  of  her  appeal,  saw  that. 
6 


and  it  set  her  off.  She  leaned  her 
brow  against  the  mantel -piece,  not 
like  a  woman,  but  a  brave  boy,  that 
does  not  want  to  be  seen  crying,  and 
she  faltered  out,  "In  France  I  am  a 
learned  physician ;  and  here  to  be  a 
Iiouse-maid!  For  I  won't  live  on 
borrowed  money.  I  am  very  unfort- 
unate." 

Severne,  who  had  lost  patience, 
came  swiftly  in,  and  found  them  in 
this  position,  and  Vizard  walking  im- 
patiently about  the  room  in  a  state  of 
emotion  which  he  was  pleased  to  call 
anger. 

Zoe,  in  a  tearful  voice,  said,  "I  am 
unable  to  advise  you.  It  is  very  hard 
that  any  one  so  deserving  should  be 
degraded." 

Vizard  burst  out,  "It  is  harder  the 
world  should  be  so  full  of  convention- 
al sneaks ;  and  that  I  was  near  mak- 
ing one  of  them.  Tiie  last  thing  we 
ever  think  of,  in  this  paltry  world,  is 
justice,  and  it  ought  lO  be  the  first. 
Well,  for  once  I've  got  the  power  to 
be  just,  and  just  I'll  be,  by  God ! 
Come,  leave  off  sniveling,  yon  two, 
and  take  a  lesson  in  justice — from  a 
beginner :  converts  are  always  the 
hottest,  you  know.  Miss  Gale,  you 
shall  not  be  driven  out  of  science,  and 
your  life  and  labor  wasted.  You  shall 
doctor  Barfordshire,  and  teach  it  En- 
glish, too,  if  any  woman  can.  This 
is  the  programme.  I  farm  two  hun- 
dred acres  —  vicariously,  of  course. 
Nobody  in  England  has  brains  to  do 
any  thing  himself.  That  weakness 
is  confined  to  your  late  father's  coun- 
try, and  they  suffer  for  it  by  outfight- 
ing, outlying,  outmanoeuvring,  out- 
bullying,  and  outwitting  us  whenever 
we  encounter  them.  Well,  the  farm- 
house is  large.  The  bailiff  has  no 
children.  There  is  a  wing  furnished, 
and  not  occupied.  You  shall  live 
there,  with  the  right  of  cutting  vege- 
tables, j'oasting  chickens,  sucking 
eggs,  and  riding  a  couple  of  horses 
off  tlieir  legs." 

"  Hut  what  am  I  to  do  for  nil  that?" 

"Oh.  onlv  the  work  of  two  men. 


122 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


Yon  must  keep  my  liouse  in  perfect 
liealtli.  Tlie  servants  liave  u  tiick 
of  eating  till  they  burst.  You  will 
have  to  sew  them  up  again.  There 
are  only  seven  hundred  people  in  the 
village.  You  must  cure  them  all;  and, 
if  you  do,  I  promise  you  their  lasting 
ingratitude.  Outside  the  village,  you 
must  make  them  jiay — if  you  can.  We 
will  find  you  patients  of  ever}'  degree, 
l^ut  whether  you  will  ever  get  any 
fees  out  of  them,  tiiis  dejionent  sayeth 
not.  However,  I  can  answer  for  the 
ladies  of  our  county,  that  they  will 
all  cheat  you — if  tiiey  can." 

Miss  Gale's  color  came  and  went, 
and  her  eyes  sparkled.  "  Oh,  how 
good  you  are !     Js  there  a  hosi)ital  ?" 

"County  hospital,  and  infirmary, 
witliin  three  miles.  Fine  country  for 
disease.  Intoxication  jjrevalent,  lead- 
ing to  a  bountiful  return  of  accidents. 
I  promise  you  wounds,  bruises,  and 
putrefying  sores,  and  every  thing  to 
make  you  comfortable." 

"  Oh,  don't  laugh  at  me.  I  am  so 
afraid  I  shall — no,  I  hope  I  shall  not 
disgrace  you.  And,  then,  it  is  against 
the  law ;   but  I  don't  mind  that." 

"Of  course  not.  What  is  the  law 
to  ladies  with  elevated  views?  IJy- 
the- bye,  what  is  tlie  penalty  —  six 
months?" 

"  Oil  no.  Twenty  pounds.  Oh, 
dear!  another  twenty  pounds  I" 

"Make  your  mind  easy.  Unjust 
laws  are  a  dead  letter  on  a  soil  so 
primitive  as  ours.  I  shall  talk  to 
U.xmoor  and  a  few  more,  and  no 
magistrate  will  ever  stunmons  you, 
nor  jury  convict  you,  in  JJartordshire. 
You  will  be  as  safe  there  as  in  Upper 
Canada.  Now  then — ^'attend.  We 
leave  for  Karfordshire  to-morrow. 
You  will  go  down  on  the  first  of  next 
month.  By  that  time  all  will  be 
ready :  start  for  Taddington,  eleven 
o'clock.  You  will  be  met  at  the  Tad- 
dington Station,  and  taken  to  your 
farm-house.  You  will  find  a  fire  ten 
days  old,  and,  for  once  in  your  life, 
young  lady,  you  will  find  an  aired 
bed ;  because  my  man  Harris  will  be 


house-maid,  and  not  let  one  of  your 
homicidal  sex  set  foot  in  the  crib." 

Miss  Gale  looked  from  Vizard  to 
his  sister,  like  a  person  in  a  dream. 
She  was  glowing  with  happiness;  but 
it  did  not  s])f)il  her.  She  said,  hum- 
bly and  timidly,  "  I  hope  I  may  i)rove 
worthy." 

"That  is  your  business,"  said  Viz- 
ard, with  supreme  indifference;  "mine 
is  to  he  just.     Have  a  cup  of  tea?  " 

"Oh  no,  thank  you;  and  it  will  be 
a  part  of  my  duty  to  object  to  after- 
noon tea.  But  I  am  afraid  none  of 
you  will  mind  me." 

After  a  few  more  words,  in  which 
Severne,  seeing  Vizard  was  in  one  of 
his  iron  moods,  and  immovable  as  him 
of  Khodes,  aflected  now  to  be  a  jiar- 
tisan  of  the  new  arrangement.  JNliss 
(jale  rose  to  retire.  Severne  ran  be- 
fore her  to  the  door,  and  opened  it,  as 
to  a  queen.  She  bowed  formally  to 
him  as  she  went  out.  When  she  was 
on  the  other  side  the  door,  she  turned 
her  head  in  her  shar]),  fiery  way,  and 
pointed  with  her  finger  to  the  emerald 
ring  on  his  little  finger,  a  very  fine 
one.  "Changed  hands,"  said  she: 
"it  was  on  the  third  finger  of  your 
left  hand  when  we  met  last;"  and 
she  passed  down  the  stairs  with  a 
face  half  turned  to  him,  and  a  cruel 
smile. 

Severne  stood  fixed,  looking  after 
her;  cold  crept  among  his  bones: 
he  was  roused  by  a  voice  above  him 
saying,  very  inquisitively,  "What  does 
she  say?"  He  looked  up,  and  it  was 
Fanny  Dover  leaning  over  the  balus- 
ters of  the  next  landing.  She  had 
evidently  seen  all,  and  heard  some. 
Severne  had  no  means  of  knowing 
how  much.  His  heart  beat  rapidly. 
Yet  he  told  her,  boldly,  that  the  doc- 
tress  had  admired  his  emerald  ring: 
as  if  to  give  greater  force  to  this  ex- 
planation, he  took  it  off,  and  showed 
it  her,  very  amicably.  He  calculated 
that  she  could  hardly,  at  that  dis- 
tance, have  heard  every  syllable,  and, 
at  the  same  time,  he  was  sure  she  had 
seen  Miss  Gale  point  at  the  ring. 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


123 


"Hum!"  said  Fanny;  and  that 
was  all  slie  said. 

Severne  went  to  liis  own  room  to 
tliinii.  He  was  almost  dizzy.  He 
dreaded  this  Rhoda  Gale.  Siie  was 
incomprehensible,  and  held  a  sword 
over  his  head.  Tongues  go  fast  in 
tiie  country.  At  the  idea  of  this  keen 
girl  and  Zoe  Vizard  sitting  under  a 
tree  for  two  hours,  with  notiiing  to 
do  hut  talk,  his  blood  ran  cold.  Sure- 
ly Miss  Gale  must  hate  him.  She 
would  not  always  sjtare  him.  For 
once  he  could  not  see  his  way  clear. 
Should  he  tell  her  half  the  truth,  and 
throw  himself  on  her  mercy  ?  Siiould 
he  make  love  to  her  ?  Or  what  should 
he  do?  One  thing  he  saw  clear  enough : 
he  must  not  quit  the  field.  Sooner  or 
later,  all  would  depend  on  his  pres- 
ence, his  tact,  and  his  ready  wit. 

He  felt  like  a  man  who  could  not 
swim,  and  wades  in  deejiening  water. 
He  must  send  somebody  to  Homburg, 
or  abandon  all  thought  of  his  money. 
Wiiy  abandon  it  ?  Why  not  return 
to  Ina  Kloskiug?  His  judgment, 
alarmed  at  the  accumulating  difficul- 
ties, began  to  intrude  its  voice.  What 
was  he  turning  his  back  on  ?  A  wom- 
an, lovely,  loving,  and  celebrated,  wiio 
was  very  likely  pining  for  him,  and 
would  share,  not  only  her  winnings  at 
j)lay  witii  him,  but  the  large  income 
she  would  make  by  her  talent.  What 
was  he  following?  A  woman  divine- 
ly lovely  and  good,  hut  whom  lie  could 
not  possess,  or,  if  he  did,  could  not 
hold  her  long,  and  whose  love  must 
end  in  horror. 

But  nature  is  not  so  imfair  to  hon- 
est men  as  to  give  wisdom  to  the 
cunning.  Rarely  lioes  reason  pre- 
vail against  passion  in  such  a  mind  as 
Severne's.  It  ended,  as  might  have 
been  expected,  in  his  going  down  to 
Vizard  Court  with  Zoe. 

An  express  traiTi  soon  whirled 
them  down  to  Taddington,  in  IJar- 
fordshire.  There  was  Harris,  with 
three  servants,  waiting  for  them,  one 
with  a  light  cart  for  their  luggage, 
and  two  with  an  open  carriage  and 


two  spanking  bays,  whose  coats  shone 
like  satin.  The  servants,  liveried, 
and  top-booted,  and  buckskin-gloved, 
and  spruce  as  if  just  out  of  a  bandbox, 
Avere  all  smartness  and  respectful  zeal. 
They  got  the  luggage  out  in  a  trice, 
with  Harris's  assistance.  Mr.  Harris 
then  drove  away  like  the  wind  in  his 
dog -cart;  the  traveling  party  were 
soon  in  the  barouche.  It  glided 
away,  and  they  rolled  on  easy  springs 
at  the  rate  of  twelve  miles  an  hour  till 
they  came  to  the  lodge-gate.  It  was 
opened  at  their  approach,  and  they 
drove  full  half  a  mile  over  a  broad 
gravel  path,  with  rich  grass  on  each 
side,  and  grand  old  patriarchs,  oak 
and  beech,  standing  here  and  there, 
and  dappled  deer,  grazing  or  lying,  in 
mottled  groups,  till  they  came  to  a 
noble  avenue  of  lofty  lime-trees,  with 
stems  of  rare  size  and  smoothness, 
and  towering  piles  on  piles  of  trans- 
lucent leaves,  that  glowed  in  the  sun 
like  flakes  of  gold. 

At  the  end  of  this  avenue  was  seen 
an  old  mansion,  built  of  that  beautiful 
clean  red  brick — which  seems  to  have 
died  out — and  wliite  stone-facings  and 
mullions,  with  gables  and  oriel- win- 
dows by  the  dozen ;  but  between  the 
avenue  and  the  house  was  a  very  large 
oval  plot  of  turf,  with  a  broad  gravel 
road  running  round  it ;  and  attached 
to  the  house,  but  thrown  a  little  back, 
were  the  stables,  which  formed  thiee 
sides  of  a  good-sized  (juadrangle,  with 
an  enormous  clock  in  the  centre. 
The  lawn,  kitchen-garden,  ice-houses, 
pineries,  greenhouses,  revealed  them- 
selves only  in  peei)s  as  the  carriage 
swept  round  the  spacious  ])lot,  and 
drew  uj)  at  the  hall  door. 

No  ringing  of  bells  nor  knocking. 
Even  as  the  coachman  tightened  his 
reins,  the  great  hall  door  was  swung 
open,  and  two  footmen  a|)pcared. 
Harris  brought  up  a  rcar-giuird,  and 
received  the  i)arty  in  due  state. 

A  double  staircase,  about  ten  feet 
broad,  rose  out  of  tlie  hall,  and  up 
this  Mr.  Harris  conducted  Severne, 
the   only   stranger,  into   a   bedroom 


121 


A  WOMAN-IIATKR. 


with   .1   great   oriel- uiiulow   looking 
west. 

"This  is  your  room,  sir,"  said  he. 
"Shall  I  iinpaclv  your  things  wiieii 
tliey  come?" 

Severne  assented,  and  tliat  perfect 
major-domo  informed  him  tiiat 
luncheon  was  ready,  and  retired  cat- 
like, and  closed  the  door  so  softly  no 
sound  was  heard. 

Mr.  Severne  looked  about  him,  and 
admitted  to  himself  that,  with  all  ills 
experiences  of  life,  this  was  his  first 
bedroom.  It  was  of  great  size,  to  be- 
gin. The  oriel -window  was  twenty 
feet  wide,  and  had  half  a  dozen  case- 
ments, each  witii  rose-colored  blinds, 
tliough  some  of  them  needed  no 
blinds,  for  green  creepers,  with  flow- 
ers like  clusters  of  grapes,  curled 
round  the  mullions,  and  the  sun 
shone  mellowed  tlirough  their  leaves. 
Enormous  curtains  of  purple  cloth, 
with  gold  borders,  liung  at  each  side 
ill  mighty  folds,  to  be  drawn  at  nigiit- 
tiine  wlien  the  eye  should  need  repose 
from  feasting  tiiion  color. 

There  were  three  brass  bedsteads 
in  a  row,  only  four  feet  broad,  with 
spring -beds,  hair  mattresses  a  foot 
tliick,  and  snowy  sheets  for  coverlets, 
instead  of  counterjianes ;  so  that,  if 
you  were  iiot,  feverish,  or  sleei)less  in 
one  bed,  you  might  try  another,  or 
two. 

Thick  carpets  and  rugs,  satin-wood 
wardrobes,  prodigious  wasii  -  hand 
stands,  with  china  backs  four  feet 
higii.  Towel-horses,  nearly  as  big 
as  <a  donkey,  with  short  towels,  long 
towels,  thick  towels,  thin  towels,  battl- 
ing sheets,  etc. ;  batlis  of  every  shape, 
and  cans  of  every  size; -a  large  knee- 
hole  table;  paper  and  envelopes  of 
every  size,  in  short,  a  room  to  sleep 
in,  study  in,  live  in,  and  stick  fast  in, 
night  and  day. 

But  what  is  this?  A  Gothic  arch, 
curtained  with  violet  merino.  lie 
draws  tlie  curtain.  It  is  an  ante- 
room. One  half  of  it  is  a  bath-room, 
screened,  and  paved  witii  encaustic 
tiles  that  run  up  the  walls,  so  you  may 


splasli  to  your  heart's  content.  The 
rest  is  a  studio,  and  contains  a  choice 
little  library  of  well -bound  books  in 
glass  cases,  a  piano-forte,  and  a  har- 
monium. Severne  tried  them  ;  they 
were  both  in  perfect  tune.  Two 
clocks,  one  in  eacli  room,  were  also 
in  perfect  time.  Thereat  he  wonder- 
ed. But  the  truth  is,  it  was  a  house 
wherein  precision  reigned:  a  tuner 
and  a  dock-maker  visited  by  contract 
every  month. 

This,  and  two  more  guest-cham- 
bers, and  the  great  dining-hall  were 
built  under  the  riantagenets,  when  all 
large  land -owners  entertained  kings 
and  princes  with  their  retinues.  As 
to  that  part  of  the  house  which  was 
Imilt  under  tlie  Tudors,  there  are  hun- 
dreds of  country  houses  as  important, 
only  Mr.  Severne  had  not  been  inside 
tliem,  and  was  hardly  aware  to  wiiat 
perfection  rational  luxury  is  brought 
in  the  houses  of  our  large  landed  gen- 
try. He  sat  down  in  an  antiipie  chair 
of  enormous  size ;  the  back  went  high- 
er than  his  head,  the  seat  ran  out  as 
far  as  his  ankle,  when  seated ;  there 
was  room  in  it  for  two,  and  it  was 
stuffed — ye  gods,  how  it  was  stuffed  I 
Tlie  sides,  the  back,  and  the  seat  were 
all  hair  mattresses,  a  foot  tiiick  at 
least.  Here  nestled  our  sybarite, 
with  the  sun  shining  through  leaves, 
and  sjilashing  his  beautiful  head  with 
golden  tints  and  transparent  shadows, 
and  felt  in  the  temple  of  comfort,  and 
incapable  of  leaving  it  alive. 

Jle  went  down  to  luncheon.  It 
was  distinguishable  from  dinner  in 
tiiis,  that  they  all  got  up  after  it,  and 
Zoe  said,  "Come  with  me,  children." 

Fanny  and  Severne  rose  at  the 
word.  Vizard  said  he  felt  excluded 
from  that  invitation,  having  cut  his 
wise-teeth;  so  he  would  light  a  cigar 
instead ;  and  he  did.  Zoe  took  the 
other  two  into  the  kitchen -garden — 
four  acres,  surrounded  with  a  high 
wall,  of  orange-red  brick,  full  of  little 
holes  where  the  nails  had  been.  Zoe, 
being  now  at  home,  and  queen,  wore 
a  new  and  pretty  deportment.     She 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


12;; 


was  half  maternal,  and  led  her  fiiend 
and  lover  about  like  two  kids.  Siie 
took  tliera  to  this  and  that  fiuit-tree, 
set  them  to  eat,  and  looked  on,  supe- 
rior. By  way  of  climax,  she  led  them 
to  the  south  wall,  crimson  with  ten 
thousand  peaches  and  nectarines  ;  she 
stepped  over  the  border,  took  superb 
peaclies  and  nectarines  from  the  trees, 
and  gave  them  with  her  own  hand  to 
Fanny  and  Severne.  Tiie  head-gar- 
dener glared  in  dismay  at  tlie  fair 
spoliator.  Zoe  observed  him,  and 
laughed.  "Poor  Lucas,"  said  she; 
"he  would  like  them  all  to  hang  on 
the  tree  till  they  fell  otY  with  a  wasp 
inside.  Eat  as  many  as  ever  you  can, 
young  people  ;  Lucas  is  amusing." 

"I  never  had  peaches  enough  oft' 
the  tree  before,"  said  Eanny. 

"No  more  have  I,"  said  Sevcrne. 
"  Tiiis  must  be  tlie  Elysian  fields,  and 
I  sliall  spoil  my  dinner." 

"  Who  cares  ?"  said  Fanny,  reck- 
lessly. "Dinner  comes  every  day, 
and  always  at  the  only  time  when  one 
has  no  appetite.  But  tliis  eating  of 
peaches —     Oh,  what  a  beauty!"' 

"Children,"  said  Zoe,  gravely,  "I 
advise  you  not  to  eat  above  a  dozen. 
Do  not  enter  on  a  fatal  course,  wliicli 
in  one  brief  year  will  reduce  you  to  a 
hapless  condition.  There — I  was  let 
loose  among  them  at  sixteen,  and  ever 
since  they  pall.  l>ut  I  do  like  to  see 
you  eat  tiiem,  and  your  eyes  sparkle." 

"  Tliat  is  too  bad  of  you,"  said  Fan- 
ny, driving  her  white  teeth  deep  into 
a  peach.  "Tiie  idea!  Now,  ]\[r. 
Severne,  do  my  eyes  sparkle  ?" 

"Like  diamonds.  But  that  proves 
nothing :  it  is  their  normal  condi- 
tion." 

"There,  make  him  a  courtesy," 
said  Zoo,  "  and  come  along." 

Siic  took  them  into  the  village.  It 
was  one  of  the  old  sort ;  little  detach- 
ed houses  with  little  gardens  in  fiont, 
in  ail  of  which  were  a  few  humble 
flowers,  and  often  a  dark  rose  of  sur- 
jiassing  beauty.  Beliind  each  cottage 
was  a  large  garden,  with  various  veg- 
etables, and  sometimes  a  few  square 


yards  of  wheat.  There  was  one  little 
row  of  new  brick  houses  standing  to- 
gether ;  their  number  five,  their  name 
Newtown.  Tiiis  town  of  five  houses 
was  tiled ;  the  detached  houses  were 
thatched,  and  the  walls  plastered  and 
whitewashed  like  snow.  Such  white- 
wash seems  never  to  be  made  in  towns, 
or  to  lose  its  whiteness  in  a  day.  This 
broad  surface  of  vivid  white  was  a 
background,  against  which  the  cling- 
ing roses,  the  clustering,  creeping 
honeysuckles,  and  the  deep  young 
ivy  with  its  tender  green  and  polish- 
ed leaves,  shone  lovely  ;  wood  smoke 
mounted,  thin  and  silvery,  from  a  cot- 
tage or  two,  that  were  cooking,  and 
embroidered  the  air,  not  fouled  it. 
The  little  windows  had  diamond 
panes,  as  in  the  IMiddle  Ages,  and 
every  cottage-door  was  open,  suggest- 
ing hospitality  and  dearth  of  thieves. 
Tliere  was  also  that  old  essential,  a 
village  green — a  broad  strip  of  sacred 
turf,  that  was  every  body's  by  custom, 
though  in  strict  law  Vizard's.  Here 
a  village  cow  and  a  donkey  went 
about  grazing  the  edges,  for  the  turf 
in  general  was  smooth  as  a  lawn.  By 
the  side  of  the  green  was  the  village 
ale-house.  After  the  green  other  cot- 
tages ;   two  of  them 

"Quite   overcanopied   with   lush  wood- 
bine, 
With  sweet  musk-roses  and  with  eLrlau- 
tiiie." 

One  of  these  was  called  Marks's  cot- 
tage, and  the  other  Allen's.  The  rus- 
tic church  stood  in  the  middle  of  a 
hill  nearly  half  a  mile  from  the  vil- 
lage. They  strolled  up  to  it.  It  had 
a  tower  built  of  Hint,  and  clad  on  two 
sides  with  ivy  three  feet  deei),  and  the 
body  of  the  church  was  as  snowy  as 
the  cottages,  and  on  the  south  side 
a  dozen  swallows  and  martins  had 
lodged  their  mortar  nests  under  the 
eaves  :  they  looked,  against  the  white, 
like  rugged  gray  stone  bosses.  Swal- 
lows and  martins  innumerable  wlieel- 
ed,  swift  as  arrows,  romul  the  tower, 
chir])ing,  and  in  and  out  of  tlie  church 
through  an  open  window,  and  added 


12G 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


tlieir  music  and  their  motion  to  tlie 
bciuity  of  the  jilace. 

Keturning  fioin  tlie  clinicli  to  tlie 
village,  Miss  Dover  higged  behind, 
and  then  tSeverne  infused  into  iiis 
voice  tliose  tender  tones,  wliich  give 
amorous  significance  to  tlie  poorest 
prose. 

"What  an  Arcadia!"'  said  lie. 

"  You  would  not  like  to  be  banish- 
ed to  it,"  said  Zoe,  demurely. 

"That  depends,"  said  he,  signifi- 
cantly. 

Instead  of  meeting  him  half-way 
and  demanding  an  ex]jlanation,  Zoe 
tinned  coy,  and  fell  to  wondering  what 
Fanny  was  about. 

"Oh,  don't  compel  her  to  join  us," 
said  Severne.     "She  is  meditating." 

"On  what?  She  is  not  much 
given  that  way." 

"On  her  past  sins;  and  preparing 
new  ones." 

"For  shame!  She  is  no  worse 
than  we  are.  Do  vou  really  admire 
Islip?" 

"Indeed  I  do,  if  this  is  Islip  ?" 

"  It  is,  then  ;  and  this  cottage  with 
the  cluster-rose  tree  all  over  the  walls 
is  Marks's  cottage.  We  are  rather 
proud  of  Marks's  cottage,"  said  she, 
timidly. 

"  It  is  a  bower,"  said  he,  warmly. 

This  encouraged  Zoe,  and  she  said, 
"  Is  there  not  a  wonderful  charm  in 
cottages?  I  often  think  I  shoidd  like 
to  live  in  Marks's.  Have  you  ever 
had  that  feeling?" 

"  Never.  But  I  have  it  now.  I 
should  like  to  live  in  it — with  you." 

Zoe  bhislied  like  a  rose,  but  tui'ned 
it  off.  "  You  would  soon  wish  your- 
self back  again  at  Vizard  Court,"  said 
she.  "Fanny  —  Fanny!"  and  she 
stood  still. 

Fatniy  came  up.  "Well,  what  is 
the  matter  now?"  said  she,  with  J^crt, 
yet  thoroughly  apathetic,  indilVcrence. 

"The  matter  is — extravagancies. 
Here  is  a  man  of  the  world  pretend- 
ing he  woidd  like  to  end  his  days  in 
Marks's  cottage." 

"Stop  a  bit.     It  was  to  be  with 


somebody  I  loved.  And  wouldn't 
you.  Miss  Dover?" 

"Oh  dear,  no.  We  should  be  sure 
to  quarrel,  cooped  up  in  such  a  mite 
of  a  place.  Ko ;  give  me  Vizard 
Court,  and  plenty  of  money,  and  the 
man  of  my  heart." 

"You  have  not  got  one,  I'm  afraid," 
said  Zoe,  "or  vou  would  not  put  him 
last." 

"Why  not  ?  when  he  is  of  the  last 
importance,"  said  Fanny,  flippantly, 
and  turned  the  laugh  her  way. 

They  strolled  through  the  village 
together,  but  in  the  grounds  of  Viz- 
ard Court  Fanny  fairly  gave  them  the 
slip.  Severne  saw  his  chance,  and 
said,  tenderly, 

"Did  you  hear  what  she  said  about 
a  large  house  being  best  for  lovers  ?" 

"Yes,  I  heard  her,"  said  Zoe,  de- 
fensively; "but  very  likely  she  did 
not  mean  it.  That  young  lady's 
words  are  air.  She  will  say  one  thing 
one  day  and  another  the  next." 

"I  don't  know.  'I'here  is  one 
thing  every  young  lady's  mind  is 
made  up  about,  and  that  is,  whether 
it  is  to  be  love  or  money." 

"She  was  for  both,  if  I  remember," 
said  Zoe,  still  coldly. 

"  Because  she  is  not  in  love." 

"Well,  I  really  believe  she  is  not 
— for  once." 

"There,  you  see.  She  is  in  an  un- 
natinal  condition." 

"For  her,  very." 

"So  she  is  no  judge.  No;  I  should 
prefer  Marks's  cottage.  The  smaller, 
the  better;  because  then  the  woman 
I  love  could  not  ever  be  far  from  me." 

He  lowered  his  voice,  and  drove  the 
insidious  words  into  her  tender  bosom. 
She  began  to  tremble  and  heave,  and 
defend  herself  feebly. 

"What  have  I  "to  do  with  that? 
You  mustn't." 

"How  can  I  help  it?  You  know 
the  woman  I  love — i  adore  —  and 
woidd  not  the  smallest  cottage  in  En- 
gland be  a  palace  if  I  was  blessed 
with  her  sweet  love  and  her  divine 
company  ?     Oh,  Zoe,  Zoe  I " 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


127 


Then  she  diil  defend  herself,  after 
a  fashion  :  "I  won't  listen  to  siicli — 
Edward  !"  Having  uttered  his  name 
with  divine  tenderness,  she  put  her 
hands  to  her  blushing  face,  and  fled 
from  him.  At  the  head  of  the  stairs 
she  encountered  Fanny,  looking  satir- 
ical.    She  reprimanded  her. 

"Fanny,"  said  she,  "you  really 
must  not  do  that" — [pause]  —  "out 
of  our  own  grounds.  Kiss  me,  dar- 
ling. I  am  a  happy  girl."  And  she 
curled  round  Fanny,  and  panted  on 
her  shoulder. 

Miss  Artful,  known  unto  men  as 
Fanny  Dover,  had  already  traced  out 
in  her  own  mind  a  line  of  conduct, 
which  the  above  reprimand,  minus 
the  above  kisses,  taken  at  their  joint 
algebraical  value,  did  not  disturb. 
The  fact  is,  Fanny  hated  home;  and 
liked  Vizard  Court  above  all  places. 
But  she  was  due  at  home,  and  hang- 
inf?  on  to  the  j)alace  of  comfort  by  a 
thread.  Any  day  her  mother,  out  of 
natural  affection  and  good-breeding, 
might  write  for  her;  and  unless  one 
of  iier  hosts  interfered,  she  sliould 
have  to  go.  But  Harrington  went 
for  nothing  in  this,  unfortunately. 
His  hospitality  was  unobtrusive,  but 
infinite.  It  came  to  him  from  the 
Plantagenets  through  a  long  line  of 
gentlemen  who  shone  in  vices  ;  but  in- 
hospitality  was  unknown  to  the  whole 
chain,  and  every  huinan  link  in  it. 
He  might  very  likely  forget  to  invite 
Fanny  Dover  nidess  reminded;  but, 
when  she  was  there,  she  was  welcome 
to  stay  forever  if  she  chose.  It  was 
all  one  to  him.  He  never  bothered 
himself  to  amuse  his  guests,  and  so 
tiiey  never  bored  him.  He  never  let 
tiiem.  He  made  tliem  at  home;  put 
his  people  and  his  horses  at  their  serv- 
ice ;  and  jireserved  his  even  tenor. 
So,  tlien,  the  (luestion  of  Fanny's  stay 
lay  with  Zoe ;  and  Zoe  would  do  one 
of  two  things:  she  would  eiliier  s:iy, 
witli  well-bred  hypocris)-.  she  ought 
not  to  keep  Fanny  any  longer  from 
her  mother  —  and  so  get  rid  of  her; 


or  would  interpose,  and  give  some 
reason  or  other.  What  that  reason 
would  be,  Fanny  had  no  precise  idea. 
She  was  sure  it  would  not  be  the  true 
one ;  but  there  her  insight  into  futuri- 
ty and  females  ceased.  Now,  Zoe  was 
thoroughly  fascinated  by  Severne,  and 
Fanny  saw  it ;  and  yet  Zoe  was  too 
iiigh-bred  a  girl  to  parade  the  village 
and  the  neigliborhood  witii  him  alone 
■ — and  so  placard  her  attachment  — 
before  they  were  engaged,  and  the  en- 
gagement sanctioned  by  the  head  of 
the  house.  This  consideration  ena- 
bled Miss  Artfid  to  make  herself 
necessary  to  Zoe.  Accordingly,  she 
showed,  on  the  very  first  afternoon, 
that  she  was  prepared  to  play  the  con- 
venient friend,  and  help  Zoe  to  com- 
bine courtship  with  proprietv. 

Til  is  plan  once  conceived,  she  ad- 
heied  to  it  with  pertinacity  and  skill. 
She  rode  and  walked  with  them,  and 
in  public  put  herself  rather  forward, 
and  asserted  the  leader;  but  sooner 
or  later,  at  a  proper  time  and  place, 
she  lagged  behind,  or  cantered  ahead, 
and  manipulated  the  wooing  with  tact 
and  dexterity. 

The  consequence  was  that  Zoe 
wrote  of  her  own  accord  to  Mrs. 
Dover,  asking  leave  to  detain  Fanny, 
because  her  brother  had  invited  a  col- 
lege friend,  and  it  was  rather  awk- 
ward for  her  without  Fannv,  there 
being  no  other  lady  in  the  house  at 
present. 

She  showed  this  to  Fanny,  who  said, 
earnestly, 

"As  long  as  ever  you  like,  dear. 
Mamma  will  not  miss  me  a  bit. 
Make  your  mind  easy." 

\'i/,ard,  knowing  his  sister,  and  en- 
tirely deceived  in  Severne,  exercised 
no  vigilance;  for,  to  do  Zoe  justice, 
none  was  necessary,  if  Severne  had 
been  the  man  he  seemed. 

There  was  no  mother  in  the  house 
to  tremble  for  her  daughter,  to  bo 
jealous,  to  watch,  to  question,  to  de- 
mand a  clear  exjtlanation  —  in  short, 
to  guard  her  young  as  only  the  moth- 
ers of  creation  do. 


128 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


The  Elysiaii  days  rolled  on.  Zoe 
was  in  heaven,  and  Severne  in  a  fool's 
paradise,  enjoying  every  tiling,  lio))ing 
every  thing,  forgetting  every  thing, 
and  fearing  nothing.  He  had  come 
to  tliis,  with  all  his  cniniing;  lie  was 
intoxicated  and  blinded  with  passion. 

Now  it  was  that  the  idea  of  mar- 
rying Zoe  first  entered  his  head. 
15 lit  he  was  not  mad  enough  for  that. 
He  repelled  it  with  terror,  rage,  and 
despjiir.  He  passed  an  hour  or  two 
of  agony  in  his  own  room,  and  came 
down,  looking  pale  and  exhausted. 
Hut,  indeed,  tiie  little  Dumas,  thougii 
he  does  not  pass  for  a  moralist,  says  tru- 
ly and  well,  "  Les  amours  illegitimcs 
])ortent  toiijours  des  fruits  amers ;"  and 
Ned  iSeverne's  turn  was  come  to  suffer 
a  few  of  the  pangs  he  had  inflicted 
gayly  on  more  than  one  woman  and 
her  lover. 

One  morning  at  breakfast  Vizard 
made  two  announcements.  "  Here's 
news,"  said  he;  "Dr.  Gale  writes  to 
postpone  her  visit.  She  is  ill,  poor 
girl!" 

"Oh,  dear!  what  is  the  matter?" 
inquired  Zoe,  always  kind-hearted. 

"Gastritis — so  she  says." 

"What  is  that?"  inquired  Fanny. 

]\Ir.  Severne,  who  was  much  pleased 
at  this  opportime  illness,  could  not 
restrain  his  humor,  and  said  it  was 
a  disorder  produced  by  the  fumes  of 
gas. 

Zoe,  accustomed  to  believe  tliis 
gentleman's  lies,  and  not  giving  her- 
self time  to  think,  said  there  was  a 
great  escape  in  the  passage  the  night 
slie  went  there. 

Then  there  was  a  laugh  at  her  sim- 
j)licity.  She  joined  in  it,  l)iit  shook 
her  finger  at  blaster  Severne. 

Vizard  then  informed  Zoe  that  Lord 
Uxmoor  had  been  staying  some  time 
at  Basildon  Hall,  about  nine  miles  off; 
so  he  iiad  asked  him  to  come  over  for 
a  week,  and  he  had  accepted.  "  He 
^vill  be  here  to  dinner,"  said  Vizard. 
He  then  rang  the  bell,  and  sent  for 
Hai'ris,  and   ordered  him   to  prepare 


the  blue  chamber  for  Lord  Uxmoor, 
and  see  the  things  aired  himself 
Harris  Iiaving  retired,  cat-like,  Viz- 
ard explained,  "My  womankind  shall 
not  kill  Uxmoor.  He  is  a  good  fel- 
low, and  his  mania — we  have  all  got 
a  mania,  my  young  friends  —  is  a  re- 
spectable one.  He  wants  to  improve 
the  condition  of  the  poor — against 
their  will." 

"His  friend!  that  was  so  ill.  I 
hope  he  has  not  lost  him,"  said  Zoe. 

"He  hasn't  lost  hiu)  in  this  letter, 
Miss  Gush,"  said  Vizard.  "But  you 
can  ask  him  when  he  comes." 

"Of  course  I  shall  ask  him,"  said 
Zoe. 

Hiilf  an  hour  before  dinner  there 
was  a  grating  of  wheels  on  the  gravel. 
Severne  looked  out  of  his  bedroom 
window,  and  saw  Uxmoor  drive  up. 
Dark -blue  coach;  silver  harness, 
glittering  in  the  sun  ;  four  chestnuts, 
glossy  as  velvet ;  two  neat  grooms  as 
quick  as  lightning.  He  was  down  in 
a  moment,  and  his  trai)S  in  the  hall, 
and  the  grooms  drove  the  trap  rotmd 
to  the  stables. 

They  were  all  in  the  drawing-roOm 
when  Lord  Uxmoor  ajipeared  ;  greet- 
ed Zoe  with  res])ectfid  warmth.  Viz- 
ard witli  easy  fViendsliip,  Severne  and 
Miss  Dover  with  well-bred  civility. 
He  took  Zoe  out,  and  sat  at  her  right 
hand  at  dinner. 

As  the  new  guest,  he  had  tlie  first 
claim  on  her  attention,  and  tliey  had 
a  tojiic  ready  —  his  sick  friend.  He 
told  her  all  about  him,  and  his  happy 
recovery,  with  simple  warmth.  Zoe 
was  interested  and  sympathetic ; 
Fanny  listened,  and  gave  Severne 
short  answers.  Sevenie  felt  de- 
throned. 

He  was  rather  mortified,  and  a  lit- 
tle uneasy,  but  too  brave  to  show  it. 
He  bided  his  time.  In  the  drawing- 
room  Lord  Uxmoor  singled  out  Zoe, 
and  courted  her  openly  with  respect- 
ful admiration.  Severne  drew  Fanny 
apart,  and  exerted  himself  to  amuse 
her.  Zoe  began  to  cast  uneasy 
glances.       Severne     made     common 


A  WOiVIAN-HATEK. 


129 


cause  with  rann\%  "  We  have  no 
chance  against  a  lord,  or  a  lady,  you 
and  I,  ]Miss  Dover. " 

"1  haven't,"  said  she;  "but  you 
need  not  complain.  She  wishes  she 
were  here.  ' 

"So  do  I.     Will  you  help  me  ?" 

"No,  I  sliall  Jiot.  You  can  make 
love  to  me.  I  am  tired  of  never  be- 
ing made  love  to." 

"  Well,"  said  this  ingenuous  youth, 
"you  certainly  do  not  get  your  de- 
serts in  this  liouse.  Even  I  am  so 
blinded  by  my  passion  for  Zoe,  that 
I  forget  she  does  not  monopolize  all 
the  beauty  and  grace  and  wit  in  tlie 
house." 

"Go  on,"  said  Fanny.  "I  can 
bear  a  good  deal  of  it — after  such  a 
fust." 

"I  have  no  doubt  you  can  bear 
a  good  deal.  You  are  one  of  those 
that  inspire  feelings,  but  don't  share 
tliem.  Give  me  a  chance ;  let  me 
sing  you  a  song." 

"A  love-song?" 

"Of  course." 

"  Can  vou  sing  it  as  well  aa  vou 
can  talk  it  ?" 

"  With  a  little  encouragement.  If 
you  would  kindly  stand  at  the  end 
of  tiie  i)iano,  and  let  me  see  your  beau- 
tiful eves  fixed  on  me." 

"With  disdain?" 

"No,  no." 

"  With  just  sus]>icion  ?" 

"No;  witii  unmerited  pity."  And 
he  began  to  open  the  ))iano. 

"What I  do  vou  accompanv  vour- 
self?' 

"Yes,  after  a  fashion;  by  that 
means  I  don't  get  run  over." 

Tlien  tills  accomi)lis]ied  pei"son  fix- 
ed his  eyes  on  Fanny  Dover,  and  simg 
her  an  Italian  love-song  in  the  artifi- 
cial, passionate  style  of  that  nation  ; 
:ind  liie  Knglisii  girl  received  it  point- 
lilanU  with  comiilacent  compostn'c. 
But  Zoe  started  and  thiiilcd  at  the 
first  note,  and  crept  up  to  the  piano 
as  if  drawn  by  an  irresistible  cord. 
She  gazed  on  the  singer  with  amaze- 
ment and  admiration.  His  voice  w.-is 
G* 


a  low  tenor,  round,  and  sweet  as  hon- 
ey. It  was  a  real  voice,  a  musical  in- 
strument. 

"More  tunable  than  lark  to  shepherd's 
ear 
When  wheat  is  green,  when  hawthoru 
buds  appear." 

And  the  Klosking  had  cured  him  of 
the  fatal  whine  Avhich  stains  the 
amateur,  male  or  female,  and  had 
taught  liiin  climax,  so  that  he  artic- 
ulated and  sung  with  perfect  purity, 
and  rang  out  his  final  notes  instead 
of  slurring  them.  In  short,  in  plain 
passages  he  was  a  reflection,  on  a 
small  scale,  of  that  great  singer.  He 
knew  this  himself,  and  had  kept  clear 
of  song  :  it  was  so  full  of  reminiscence 
and  stings.  But  now  jealousy  drove 
him  to  it. 

It  was  Vizard's  rule  to  leave  the 
room  whenever  Zoe  or  Fanny  opened 
the  piano.  So  in  the  evening  that 
instrument  of  torture  was  always 
mute. 

But  hearing  a  male  voice,  the  squire, 
who  doted  on  good  music,  as  he  ab- 
iiorred  bad,  strolled  in  upon  the 
chance  ;  and  he  stared  at  tiie  singer. 

When  the  song  ended,  there  was 
a  little  clamor  of  ladies'  voices  calling 
him  to  account  for  concealing  his  tal- 
ent from  them. 

"  I  was  afraid  of  Vizard,"  said  he  ; 
"he  hates  bad  music." 

"None  of  your  tricks,"  said  the 
squire;  "yours  is  not  bad  music; 
you  s])eak  your  words  articulately, 
and  even  eloquently.  Your  accom- 
paniment is  a  little  queer,  especially 
in  the  bass;  but  you  find  out  your 
mistakes,  and  slip  out  of  them  Heav- 
en knows  how.  Zoe,  you  are  tame, 
but  accurate.  Correct  his  accompa- 
niments some  day — when  I'm  out  of 
hearing.  Practice  drives  me  mad. 
Give  us  another." 

Severne  laughed  good-humoredly. 
"Thus  encouraged,  who  could  resist  ?" 
said  he.  "It  is  so  delightful  to  sing 
in  a  siiower-balh  of  criticism." 

He  simg  a  sjirightly  French  song, 
with  i)rodigious  spirit  and  dash. 


130 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


Tliey  all  ajiplaudeJ,  and  Vizard 
said,  "  I  see  how  it  is.  We  were  not 
goocf  enough.  lie  would  not  come 
out  for  IIS.  He  wanted  the  public. 
Uxmoor,  you  are  the  public.  It  is 
to  you  we  owe  this  pretty  warbler. 
Have  you  any  favorite  song,  Public? 
Say  the  word,  and   he  shall  sing  it 

you." 

Severne  turned  rather  red  at  that, 
and  was  about  to  rise  slowly,  when 
Uxmoor,  who  was  instinctively  a  gen- 
tleman, though  not  a  courtier,  said, 
"I  don't  i)resume  to  choose  Mr.  Sev- 
erne's  songs;  but  if  we  are  not  tiring 
him,  I  own  I  should  like  to  hear  an 
English  song  ;  for  I  am  no  musician, 
and  the  words  are  every  thing  with 
me. 

Severne  assented  dryly,  and  made 
him  a  shrewd  return  for  liis  courtesy. 

Zoe  had  a  brave  rose  in  her  black 
hair.  He  gave  her  one  rapid  glance 
of  significance,  and  sung  a  [Scotch 
song,  almost  as  finely  as  it  could  be 
sung  in  a  room  : 

"My  love  is  like  the  red,  red  rose, 
That's  newly  s^prunf,'  in  June  ; 
My  love  is  like  a  melody 
That's  sweetly  played  in  tune." 

The  dog  did  not  slur  tho  short  notes 
and  howl  upon  the  long  ones,  as-  did 
a  little  fat  Jew  from  London,  with 
a  sweet  voice  and  no  brains,  whom 
I  last  heard  howl  it  in  the  Theatre 
Royal,  Edinburgh.  No;  he  retained 
the  pure  rhythm  of  the  composition, 
and,  above  all,  sung  it  with  the  gen- 
tle earnestness  and  unquavering  emo- 
tion of  a  I5riton. 

It  struck  Zoc's  heart  point-blank. 
She  drew  back,  blushing  like  the  rose 
in  her  hair  and  in  the  song,  and  hid- 
ing her  happiness  from  all  but  the 
keen  Fanny.  Every  body  but  Zoe 
applauded  the  song.  She  spoke  only 
with  her  cheeks  and  eyes. 

Severne  rose  from  the  jiiano.  He 
was  asked  to  sing  another,  but  de- 
clined laughingly.  Indeed,  soon  aft- 
erward he  glided  out  of  the  room,  and 
was  seen  no  more  that  night. 

Consequently  he  became  the  toi)ic 


of  conversation  ;  and  the  three,  who 
thought  tliey  knew  him,  vied  in  his 
praises. 

In  the  morning  an  expedition  was 
planned,  and  Lord  Uxmoor  proffered 
his  "four-in-hand."  It  was  accept- 
ed. All  young  ladies  like  to  sit  be- 
hind four  spanking  trotters;  and  few 
object  to  be  driven  by  a  viscount  with 
a  glorious  beard  and  large  estates. 

Zoe  sat  by  U.xmoor.  Severne  sat 
behind  them  with  Fanny,  a  spectator 
of  his  oi)en  admiration.  He  could 
not  defend  himself  so  well  as  last 
night,  and  he  felt  humiliated  by  the 
position. 

It  was  renewed  day  after  day.  Zoe 
often  cast  a  glance  back,  and  drew 
him  into  the  conversation ;  yet,  on 
the  whole,  U.xmoor  thrust  him  aside 
by  his  advantages  and  his  resolute 
wooing. 

The  same  thing  at  dinner.  It  was 
only  at  night  he  could  be  number  one. 
He  tuned  Zoc's  guitar;  and,  one 
night,  when  there  was  a  party,  he 
walked  about  the  room  with  this,  and, 
putting  bis  left  leg  out,  serenaded  one 
lady  after  another.  Harfordshiie  was 
amazed  and  delighted  at  him,  but 
Uxmoor  courted  Zoe  as  if  he  did  not 
exist.  He  began  to  feel  that  he  was 
the  man  to  amuse  women  in  IJarford- 
shiie,  but  Uxmoor  the  man  to  marry 
them.  He  began  to  sulk.  Zoe's 
quick  eye  saw  and  jiiiied.  She  was 
puzzled  what  to  do.  Lord  Uxmoor 
gave  iier  no  excuse  for  throwing  cold 
water  on  him,  because  his  adoration 
was  implied,  not  expressed  ;  and  he 
followed  her  up  so  closely,  she  could 
hardly  get  a  word  with  Severne. 
When  she  did,  there  was  consolation 
in  every  tone ;  and  she  took  care  to 
let  drop  that  Lord  Uxmoor  was  go- 
ing ill  a  day  or  two.  So  he  was,  but 
he  altered  his  mind,  and  asked  leave 
to  stay. 

Severne  looked  gloomy  at  this,  and 
he  became  dejected.  He  was  miser- 
able, and  showed  it,  to  see  what  Zoe 
would  do.  What  she  did  was  to  get 
rather  bored  by  Uxmooi',  and  glance 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


131 


from  Fanny  to  Seveine.  I  believe 
Zoe  only  meant,  "Do  pray  say  things 
to  comfort  him;"  but  Fanny  read 
these  gentle  glances  a  la  Dover.  She 
got  hold  of  Severne  one  day,  and  said, 

"What  is  the  matter  with  you?" 

"Of  course  you  can't  divine,"  said 
he,  sarcastically. 

"Oh  yes,  1  can;  and  it  is  your 
own  fault." 

"My  fault !  That  is  a  good  joke. 
Did  I  invite  tiiis  man  with  all  his  ad- 
vantages? That  was  Vizard's  doing, 
who  calls  himself  my  friend." 

"If  it  was  not  this  one,  it  would 
be  some  other.  Can  you  hope  to 
keep  Zoe  Vizard  from  being  courted? 
Wliy,  she  is  the  beauty  of  tlie  county  I 
and  her  brother  not  married.  It  is 
no  use  your  making  love  by  halves  to 
her.  She  will  go  to  some  man  who  is 
in  earnest." 

"And  am  I  not  in  earnest?" 

"  Not  so  much  as  he  is.  You  have 
known  her  four  months,  and  never 
once  asked  her  to  marry  you. " 

"So  I  am  to  be  punished  for  my 
self-denial." 

"Self-denial!  Nonsense.  Men 
have  no  self-denial.  It  is  your  cow- 
ardice." 

"Don't  be  cruel.  You  know  it  is 
m}'  poverty. " 

"Your  poverty  of  spirit.  You 
gave  up  money  for  her,  and  that  is 
as  good  as  if  you  had  it  still,  and  bet- 
ter. If  you  love  Zoe,  scrape  up  an 
income  somehow,  and  say  tiie  word. 
Why,  Harrington  is  bewitclied  witii 
you,  and  he  is  rolling  in  money.  I 
wouldn't  lose  her  by  cowardice,  if  I 
were  you.  Uxmoor  will  ofl'er  mar- 
riage before  he  goes.  He  is  staying 
on  for  that.  Now,  take  my  word  for 
it,  wlien  one  man  offers  marriage,  and 
the  other  does  not,  there  is  always  a 
good  chance  of  tiie  girl  saying  this 
one  is  in  earnest,  and  the  other  is  not. 
We  don't  expect  self-denial  in  a  man  ; 
we  don't  believe  in  it.  We  see  you 
seizing  upon  every  thing  else  you 
care  for;  and,  if  you  don't  seize  on 
us,  it  wounds  our  vanity,  tlie  strong- 


est passion  we  have.  Consider,  Ux- 
moor has  title,  wealth,  every  thing  to 
bestow  with  the  wedding-ring.  If  he 
offers  all  that,  and  you  don't  offer  all 
you  have,  how  much  more  generous 
lie  looks  to  her  than  you  do!" 

"  In  short,  you  tliink  she  will  doubt 
ray  affection,  if  I  don't  ask  her  to 
siiare  my  poverty." 

"If  you  don't,  and  a  rich  man  asks 
her  to  share  his  all,  I'm  sure  she  will. 
And  so  should  I.  Words  are  only 
words." 

"You  torture  me.  I'd  rather  die 
than  lose  her." 

"  Then  live  and  win  her.  I've 
told  you  the  way." 

"I  will  scrape  an  income  together, 
and  ask  her." 

"  Upon  your  honor?" 

"  Upon  my  soul," 

"Then,  in  my  opinion,  you  will 
have  her  in  spite  of  Lord  Uxmoor." 

Hot  from  this,  Edward  Severne  sat 
down  and  wrote  a  moving  letter  to  a 
certain  cousin  of  his  in  Huntingdon- 
shire. 

"My  dear  Cousin, — I  have  often 
heard  you  say  you  were  under  obli- 
gations to  my  father,  and  had  a  re- 
gard for  me.  Indeed,  you  have  shown 
the  latter  by  letting  the  interest  on 
my  mortgage  run  out  many  years  and 
not  foreclosing.  H'lving  no  other 
friend,  I  now  write  to  you,  and  throw 
myself  on  your  pity.  I  have  formed 
a  deep  attachment  to  a  young  lady 
of  infinite- beauty  and  virtue.  She  is 
above  me  in  every  thing,  especially  in 
fortune.  Yet  she  deigns  to  love  me. 
I  can't  ask  her  hand  as  a  pauper  ;  and 
by  my  own  folly,  now  deejily  rei)ent 
ed,  I  am  little  more.  Now,  all  de- 
pends on  you — my  happiness,  my  re- 
spectability. Sooner  or  later,  I  shall 
be  able  to  repay  you  all.  For  God's 
sake,  come  to  the  assistance  of  your 
affectionate  cousin, 

"  Edwaui)  Skvkunk." 

"The  brother,  a  man  of  immense 
estates,  is  an  old  friend,  and  warmly 
attached    to   mo.     If   I    could    only. 


i;32 


A  \V0MA2s-nATEK. 


through  your  temporary  assistance 
or  connivance,  ])resent  my  estate  as 
clear,  all  would  be  well,  and  I  could 
repay  you  alYerward." 

To  this  letter  he  received  an  im- 
mediate reply : 

"Dear  Edward, — I  thought  you 
had  forgotten  my  very  existence. 
Yes,  I  owe  much  to  your  father,  and 
have  always  said  so,  and  acted  ac- 
cordingly. While  you  have  been 
wandering  abroad,  deserting  us  all, 
I  have  improved  your  estate.  I  have 
bought  all  tlie  other  mortgages,  and 
of  late  the  rent  has  paid  the  interest, 
within  a  few  pounds.  1  now  make 
you  an  oft'er.  Give  me  a  long  lease 
of  the  two  farms  at  three  hundred 
pounds  a  year — they  will  soon  be  va- 
cant— and  two  thousand  pounds  out 
of  hand,  and  I  will  cancel  all  the 
mortgages,  and  give  yon  a  receipt  for 
them  as  paid  in  full.  This  will  be 
like  paying  you  several  thousand 
pounds  for  a  beneficial  lease.  The 
two  thousand  i)Ounds  1  must  insist 
on,  in  justice  to  my  own  family. 
Your  aflectionate  cousin, 

"George  Severne." 

This  munificent  offer  surprised  and 
delighted  Severne ;  and,  indeed,  no 
other  man  but  Cousin  George,  who 
had  a  heart  of  gold,  and  was  grateful 
to  Ned's  father,  and  also  loved  the 
scamp  himself,  as  every  body  did, 
woidd  have  made  such  an  offer. 

Our  adventurer  wrote,  and  closed 
witii  it,  and  gushed  gratitude.  Then 
he  asked  himself  how  to  get  the  mon- 
ey. Had  he  been  married  to  Zoe,  or 
not  thinking  of  her,  he  would  have 
gone  at  once  to  Vizard,  for  the  secu- 
rity was  amjjlc.  But  in  bis  present 
delicate  situation  this  would  not  do. 
No ;  he  must  be  able  to  come  and 
say,  "My  estate  is  small,  but  it  is 
clear.  Here  is  a  receipt  for  si.\  thou- 
s.and  pounds'  worth  of  mortgages  I 
have  paid  off.  I  am  poor  in  land, 
but  rich  in  experience,  regrets,  and 


love.  Be  my  friend,  and  trust  me 
with  Zoe." 

He  turned  and  twisted  it  in  his 
mind,  and  resolved  on  a  bold  course. 
He  woidd  go  to  Homburg,  and  get 
that  sum  by  hook  or  by  crook  out  of 
Ina  Klosking's  winnings.  He  took 
Fanny  into  his  confidence;  only  he 
substituted  London  fur  Homburg. 

"And  oh,  JMiss  Dover,"  said  he, 
"  do  not  let  me  suffer  by  going  away 
and  leaving  a  rival  behind." 

"Suffer  by  it!"  said  she.  "No. 
I  mean  to  reward  you  for  taking  my 
advice.  Don't  you  say  a  word  to  Iwr. 
It  will  come  better  from  me.  I'll  let 
her  know  what  you  are  gone  for  ;  and 
she  is  just  the  girl  to  be  upon  honor, 
and  ever  so  much  cooler  to  Lord  Ux- 
moor  because  you  are  unhappy,  but 
have  gone  away  trusting  her." 

And  his  artfid  ally  kept  her  word. 
She  went  into  Zoe's  room  before  din- 
ner to  have  it  out  with  her. 

In  tiie  evening  Severne  told  Vizard 
he  must  go  up  to  London  for  a  day 
or  two. 

"All  right,"  said  Vizard.  "Tell 
some  of  them  to  order  the  dog-cart 
for  your  train." 

But  Zoe  took  occasion  to  ask  him 
for  how  long,  and  m m-mu red,  "  Re- 
member how  we  shall  miss  you," 
with  such  a  look  that  he  was  in  Elys- 
ium that  evening. 

But  at  night  he  jiacked  his  bag  for 
Homburg,  and  that  cliilled  him.  He 
lay  slumbering  all  night,  but  not  sleep- 
ing, and  waking  with  starts  and  a 
sense  of  horror. 

At  breakfast,  after  reading  his  let- 
ters. Vizard  asked  him  what  train  he 
would  go  by. 

He  said,  the  one  o'clock. 

"All  right,"  said  Vizard.  Then 
he  rang  the  bell,  countermanded  the 
dog-cart,  and  ordered  the  barouche. 

"A  barouche  for  mel"  said  Sev- 
erne. "Why,  I  am  not  going  to 
take  the  ladies  to  the  station." 

"No;  it  is  to  bring  one  here.  She 
comes  down  from  London  five  min- 
utes before  you  take  the  up  train." 


A  WOMAJSf-HATEK. 


133 


There  was  a  general  exclamation  : 
Who  was  it  ?     Aunt  Maitland  ? 

"No," said  Vizard,  tossing  a  note 
to  Zoe — "it  is  Doctiess  Gale." 

Sevcrne's  countenance  fell. 


CHAPTER  XVir. 

Edward  8f;vERNE,  master  of  arts, 
dreaded  Rlioda  Gale,  M.D.  He  had 
deluded,  in  various  degrees,  several  la- 
dies that  were  no  fools ;  but  here  was 
one  who  staggered  and  puzzled  him. 
Bright  and  keen  as  steel,  quick  and 
sjjirited,  yet  controlled  by  judgment 
and  always  mistress  of  herself,  she 
seemed  to  him  a  new  species.  The 
worst  of  it  was,  he  felt  himselt  in  the 
power  of  this  new  woman,  and,  in- 
deed, he  saw  no  limit  to  tlie  mischief 
she  might  possibly  do  him  if  she  and 
Zoe  compared  notes.  He  had  thought 
the  matter  over,  and  realized  this 
more  than  he  did  when  in  London. 
Hence  the  good  youth's  delight  at  her 
illness,  noticed  in  a  former  ciiapter. 

He  was  very  tiioughtful  all  break- 
fast-time, and  as  soon  as  it  was  over 
drew  Vizard  a])art,  and  said  he  would 
postpone  his  visit  to  London  until  he 
had  communicated  witii  his  man  of 
business.  He  would  go  to  the  station 
and  telegraph  him,  and  Iiy  that  means 
would  do  the  civil  anti"  meet  IMiss  Gale. 
Vizard  stared  at  him. 

"You  meet  my  virago?  Wliy,  I 
thoughtyou  disapproveil  her  entirely." 

"  No,  no ;  only  the  idea  of  a  female 
doctor,  not  the  lady  herself.  Besides, 
it  is  a  rule  with  me,  my  dear  fellow, 
never  to  let  myself  disapprove  my 
friends'  friends." 

"  Tiiat  is  a  bright  idea,  and  you  are 
a  good  fellow,"  said  Vizard.  "Go 
and  meet  the  pest,  by  all  means,  and 
bring  her  here  to  luncheon.  After 
luncheon  we  will  drive  her  up  to  the 
farm  and  ensconce  her." 

Edward  Severne  had  this  advantage 


over  most  impostors,  that  he  was  mas- 
culine or  feminine  as  occasion  required. 
For  instance,  he  could  be  hj^sterical 
or  bold  to  serve  the  turn.  Another 
example  —  he  watched  faces  like  a 
woman,  and  yet  he  could  look  you  in 
the  face  like  a  man,  especially  wiien 
he  was  lying.  In  the  present  conjunct- 
ure a  crafty  woman  would  have  bris- 
tled with  all  the  arts  of  self-defense, 
but  staid  at  home  and  kept  close  to 
Zoe.  Not  so  our  master  of  arts  ;  he 
went  manfully  to  meet  Rlioda  Gale, 
and  so  secure  a  tete-a-tete,  and  learn, 
if  possible,  what  she  meant  to  do,  and 
whether  she  could  be  cannily  propiti- 
ated. He  reached  the  station  before 
her,  and  wired  a  very  intelligent  per- 
son who,  he  knew,  conducted  delicate 
inquiries,  and  had  been  very  success- 
ful in  a  divorce  case,  public  two  years 
before.  Even  as  he  dispatched  this 
message  there  was  a  whistling  and  a 
ringing,  and  the  sound  of  a  coming 
train,  and  Ned  Severne  ran  to  meet 
Riioda  Gale  with  a  heart  palpitating 
a  little,  and  a  face  beaming  greatly  to 
order.  He  looked  for  her  in  the  first- 
class  carriages,  but  she  was  in  the  sec- 
ond, and  saw  him.  He  did  not  see 
her  till  she  stepped  out  on  the  plat- 
form. Tiien  he  made  toward  her. 
He  took  off  his  hat,  and  said,  with  re- 
spectful zeal,  "If  you  will  tell  me  what 
luggage  you  have,  the  groom  shall  get 
it  out.  ' 

Miss  Gale's  ej'es  wandered  over  him 
lofiiiv.  "I  have  onlv  a  box  and  a 
bag. "sir,  both  marked  'R.  G.'" 

"  Joe,"  said  he — for  he  had  already 
made  friends  with  all  the  servants, 
and  won  their  hearts — "box  and  bag 
marked  'R.  G.'  JNliss  Gale,  you  had 
better  take  your  seat  in  the  caniage." 

IMiss  (iale  gave  a  little  supercilious 
nod,  and  he  showed  her  obsequiously 
into  the  carriage.  She  laid  her  head 
back,  and  contemi)lated  vacancy  ahead 
in  a  manner  any  thing  but  encour- 
aging to  this  new  admirer  Fate  had 
sent  her.  He  tinned  away,  a  little 
discomfited,  and  w  hen  the  luggage  was 
brought  up,  he  had  the  bag  placed  in- 


134 


A  WOMAN-HATEK. 


side,  and  the  box  in  a  sort  of  boot, 
and  then  jumped  in  and  seated  liim- 
self  inside.  "Home,"  said  lie  to  the 
coaciiman,  and  oft' they  went.  When 
he  came  in,  she  started  with  well- 
feigned  surprise,  and  stared  at  him. 

"Oh,"  said  she,  "I  iiave  met  you 
before.  Why,  it  is  Mr.  Severne.  Ex- 
cuse me  taking  you  for  one  of  the 
servants.  Home  people  have  short 
memories,  you  know." 

This  deliberate  affront  was  duly 
felt,  but  parried  witli  a  master-hand. 

"Why,  I  am  one  of  tlie  servants," 
said  he;  "only  I  am  not  Vizard's. 
I'm  vours." 

"In-deed!" 

"If  you  will  let  me." 

"I  am  too  poor  to  have  fine  serv- 
ants." 

"  Say  too  haughty.  You  are  not 
too  poor,  for  I  shan't  cost  you  any 
thing  but  a  gracious  word  now  and 
then." 

"Unfortunately  I  don't  deal  in 
gracious  words,  only  true  ones." 

"I  see  that." 

"Then  suppose  you  imitate  me,  and 
tell  me  why  you  came  to  meet  me?" 

This  question  came  from  her  with 
sudden  celerity,  like  liglitning  out  of 
a  cloud,  and  she  bent  her  eyes  on 
him  with  that  prodigious  keenness  she 
could  throw  into  those  steel-gray  orbs, 
wlien  her  mind  put  on  its  full  power 
of  observation. 

Heverne  colored  a  little,  and  hesi- 
tated. 

"Come  now," said  this  keen  witch, 
"don't  wait  to  nuike  up  a  reason. 
Tell  the  truth  for  once  —  quick!  — 
quick  I — why  did  yuu  come  to  meet 
me  ?" 

"*[  didn't  come  to  be  bullied,"  re- 
plied supple  Severne,  aft'ecting  sullen- 
ness. 

"  You  didn't !"  cried  the  other,  act- 
ing vast  surprise.  "Then  what  did 
you  come  for?' 

"  I  don't  know ;  and  I  wish  I 
hadn't  come." 

"That  I  believe."  Khoda  shot 
this  in  like  an  anow. 


"But,"  continued  Severne,  "if  I 
hadn't,  nobody  would  ;  for  it  is  Viz- 
ard's justiciiig  day,  and  tlie  ladies  are 
too  taken  up  with  a  lord  to  come  and 
meet  such  vidgar  trifles  as  genius  and 
learning  and  sci — " 

"Come,  come!"  said  Khoda,  con- 
tem])tuously ;  "you  care  as  little 
about  science  and  learning  and  gen- 
ius as  I  possess  them.  You  won't 
tell  me  ?  Well,  I  shall  find  you  out." 
Then,  after  a  pause,  "Wiio  is  this 
lord  ?" 

"LordUxmoor." 

"What  kind  of  a  lord  is  he?" 

"A  very  bushy  lord." 

"Bushy? — oh,  bearded  like  the 
pard !  Now  tell  me,"  said  she,  "is 
he  cutting  you  out  with  Miss  Vizard  ?" 

"You  shall  judge  for  yourself. 
Please  spare  me  on  that  one  topic — 
if  vou  ever  spared  any  body  iu  your 
hfe." 

"  Oh,  dear  me!"  said  Rhoda,  cool- 
ly. "I'm  not  so  very  cruel.  I'm 
only  a  little  vindictive  and  cat-like. 
If  people  offend  me,  I  like,  to  play 
with  them  a  bit,  and  amuse  myself, 
and  then  kill  them — kill  them  —  kill 
them  ;  that  is  all." 

This  pretty  little  revelation  of  char- 
acter was  accompanied  with  a  cruel 
smile  that  showed  a  long  row  of  daz- 
zling white  teeth.  Tiiey  seemed  ca- 
pable of  killing  any  thing  from  a  liar 
up  to  a  hickory-nut. 

Severne  looked  at  her  and  gave  a 
shudder.  "Then  Heaven  forbid  you 
should  ever  be  my  enemy!"  said  he, 
sadlv,  "for  I  am  unhaj)pv  enough 
already." 

Having  delivered  this  disarming 
speech,  he  collaj)sed,  and  seemed  to 
be  overpowered  with  despondency. 
Miss  Gale  showed  no  signs  of  melt- 
ing. She  leaned  back  and  eyed  him 
with  steady  and  comjiosed  curiosity, 
as  a  zoologist  studying  a  new  speci- 
men and  all  its  little  movements. 

They  drove  up  to  the  hall  door, 
and  Aliss  Gale  was  conducted  to  the 
drawing-ioom,  where  she  found  Lord 
Uxmoor  and   the  two  young  ladies. 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


135 


Zoe  shook  hands  with  her.  Fanny 
put  a  limp  paw  into  hers,  wiiich  made 
itself  equally  limp  directl}',  so  Fanny's 
dropped  out.  Lord  Uxnioor  was  pre- 
sented to  her,  at  his  own  request. 
Soon  after  this,  luncheon  was  an- 
nounced. Vizard  joined  them,  wel- 
comed Rhoda  genially,  and  told  the 
party  he  had  ordered  the  break,  and 
Uxmoor  would  drive  them  to  the 
farm  round  by  Hillstoke  and  tiie 
Common.  "And  so,"  said  he,  "by 
showing  Miss  Gale  our  most  pictur- 
esque spot  at  once,  we  may  perhaps 
blind  her  to  the  horrors  of  her  situa- 
tion— for  a  time." 

The  break  was  driven  round  in  due 
course,  with  Uxmoor's  team  harness- 
ed to  it.  It  was  followed  by  a  dog- 
cait  crammed  with  grooms,  Uxmoor- 
ian  and  Vizardian.  The  break  was 
padded  and  cushioned,  and  held  eight 
or  nine  people  very  comfortably.  It 
was,  indeed,  a  sort  of  picnic  van,  nsed 
only  in  very  fine  weather.  It  rolled 
on  beautiful  springs.  Its  present  con- 
tents were  filiss  Gale  and  her  lug- 
gage and  two  hampers  full  of  good 
things  for  her;  Vizard,  Severne,  and 
Miss  Dover.  Zoe  sat  on  the  box 
beside  Lord  Uxmoor.  They  drove 
through  the  village,  and  Mr.  Severne 
was  so  obliging  as  to  point  out  its 
beauties  to  Miss  Gale.  She  took  lit- 
tle notice  of  his  comments,  except  by 
a  stiff  nod  every  now  and  then,  but 
eyed  each  house  and  jjremises  with 
great  keenness. 

At  last  she  stopped  his  fluency  by 
inquiring  whether  he  had  been  into 
them  all ;  and  when  lie  said  he  had 
not,  she  took  advantage  of  that  ad- 
mission to  inform  him  that  in  two 
days'  time  she  should  be  able  to  tell 
him  a  great  deal  more  than  he  was 
likely  to  tell  her,  upon  his  method  of 
inspecting  villages. 

"That  is  right,"  said  Vizard; 
"snub  him.  Me  gets  snubbed  too 
little  here.  How  dare  he  pepper  sci- 
ence with  his  small-talk?  Rut  it  is 
our  faidt — we  admire  his  volubility." 

"Oh,"  said  Fanny,  with  a  glance 


of  defiance  at  Miss  Gale,  "if  we  are 
to  talk  nothing  but  science,  it  ivill  be 
a  weary  world." 

After  the  village  there  was  a  long, 
gradual  ascent  of  about  a  mile,  and 
then  they  entered  a  new  country.  It 
was  a  series  of  woods  and  clearings, 
some  grass,  some  arable.  Huge  oaks 
flung  their  arms  over  a  road  lined  on 
either  side  by  short  turf,  close -crop- 
ped by  the  gypsies'  cattle.  Some 
band  or  other  of  them  was  always  en- 
camped by  the  road -side,  and  never 
two  bands  at  once.  And  between 
these  giant  trees,  not  one  of  which 
was  ever  felled,  you  saw  here  and 
there  a  glade,  green  as  an  emerald  ; 
or  a  yellow  stubble,  glowing  in  the 
sun.  After  about  a  mile  of  this,  still 
mounting,  but  gradually,  they  emerged 
upon  a  spacious  table -land  —  a  long, 
broad,  open,  grass  ))lateau,  studded 
with  cottages.  In  this  lake  of  grass 
Uxmoor  drew  up  at  a  word  from  Zoe, 
to  show  Miss  Gale  the  scene.  The 
cottages  were  white  as  snow,  and 
thatched  as  at  Islip ;  but  instead  of 
vegetable -gardens  they  all  had  or- 
chards. The  trees  were  apple  and 
cherry :  of  the  latter  not  less  than  a 
thousand  in  that  small  hamlet.  It 
was  literally  a  lawn,  a  quarter  of  a 
mile  long  and  about  two  hundred 
yards  broad,  bordered  with  white  cot- 
tages and  orchards.  The  cherries, 
red  and  black,  gleamed  like  countless 
eyes  among  the  cool  leaves.  There 
was  a  little  church  on  the  lawn  that 
looked  like  a  pigeon-house.  A  cow  or 
two  grazed  peacefully.  Pigs,  big  and 
little,  crossed  the  lawn,  grunting  and 
squeaking  satisfaction,  and  dived  into 
the  adjacent  woods  after  acoms,  and 
here  and  tliere  a  truffle  the  villagers 
knew  not  the  value  of.  There  was  a 
pond  or  two  in  the  lawn  ;  one  had  a 
wooden  plank  fixed  on  u])rights,  that 
went  in  some  way.  A  woman  was 
out  on  the  board,  bare-armed,  dipping 
her  bucket  in  for  water.  In  anoth- 
er pond  an  old  knowing  horse  stood 
gravely  cooling  his  heels  up  to  the  fet- 
locks.    These,  with  shirts,  male  and 


136 


A  WOxMAN-HATEK. 


female,  diving  on  n  line,  and  white- 
headed  eliildien  iollin{|  in  the  dust, 
and  a  donkey  hrayinj;  liis  liciut  ont 
for  reasons  known  only  to  iiimself,  if 
known  at  all,  were  tiie  principal  de- 
tails of  the  sylvan  hamlet ;  but  on  a 
general  survey  there  were  grand  beau- 
ties. Tiie  vilhige  and  its  turf  lay  in 
the  seniicircuhir  swec])  of  an  unbroken 
forest ;  but  at  the  sides  of  the  leafy 
basin  glades  had  been  cut  for  drawing 
timber,  stacking  bark,  etc.,  and  what 
Milton  calls  so  happily  "  the  check- 
ered shade  "  was  seen  in  all  its  beau- 
ty ;  for  the  hot  sua  struggled  in  at  ev- 
ery a))erture,  and  splashed  the  leaves 
and  the  jjath  with  fiery  Hashes  and 
streaks,  and  topaz  brooches,  all  inten- 
sified in  lire  and  beauty  by  the  cool 
adjacent  shadows. 

Looking  back,  the  view  was  quite 
open  in  most  jilaces.  The  wooded 
lanes  and  strips  they  had  passed  were 
little  more  in  so  vast  a  panorama  than 
the  black  stripes  on  a  backgammon- 
board.  The  site  was  so  high  that  the 
eye  swept  over  all,  and  rested  on  a 
broad  valley  beyond,  with  a  patch- 
work pattern  of  variegated  fields,  and 
the  curling  steam  of  engines  flying 
across  all  England ;  then  swept  by  a 
vast  incline  up  to  a  horizon  of  faint 
green  hills,  the  famous  ])astures  of  the 
United  Kingdom.  So  that  it  was  a 
deep  basin  of  foliage  in  front;  but 
you  had  only  to  turn  your  body,  and 
there  was  a  forty-mile  view,  with  all 
the  sweet  varieties  of  color  that  gem 
our  fields  and  meadows,  as  they  bask 
in  the  afternoon  sun  of  that  golden 
time  when  summer  melts  into  au- 
tumn, and  mellows  without  a  chill. 

"Oh," cried  Miss  Gale,  "don"t  any 
bodv  speak,  please!  It  is  too  beauti- 
ful f" 

Tiiey  respected  an  enthusiasm  so 
rare  in  this  young  lady,  and  let  her 
contemplate  the  scene  at  her  ease. 

"I  reckon,"  said  she,  dogmatical- 
ly, and  nodding  that  wise  little  bead, 
"that  this  is  Old  England— the  En- 
gland my  ancestors  left  in  search  of 
liberty,  and  that's  a  ]>h\ut  that  ranks 


before  cherry-trees,  I  rather  think. 
No,  I  coiikln't  have  gone;  I'd  have 
staid  and  killed  a  hundred  tyrants. 
IJut  I  Avoukln't  have  cho])ped  their 
heads  oft'"  (to  Vizard,  very  confiden- 
tially) ;  "  I'd  have  poisoned  'em." 

"Don't,  Miss  Gale!"  said  Fanny; 
"you  make  my  blood  run  cold." 

As  it  was  (piite  indifferent  to  Miss 
Gale  whether  she  made  Miss  Dover's 
blood  run  cold  or  not,  she  paid  no 
attention,  but  proceeded  with  her 
reflections.  "  The  only  thing  that 
s])oiIs  it  is  the  smoke  of  those  en- 
gines, reminding  one  that  in  two 
hours  you  or  I,  or  that  pastoral  old 
hermit  there  in  a  smock-frock,  and  a 
l)ipe — and  oh, what  bad  tobacco! — can 
be  wrenched  out  of  this  paradise,  and 
shrieked  and  rattled  off  and  flung  into 
tiiat  wilderness  of  brick  called  Lon- 
don, where  the  hearts  are  as  hard  as 
the  pavement — except  those  that  have 
strayed  there  from  Barfordshire." 

The  witch  changed  face  and  tone 
and  every  thing  like  lightning,  and 
threw  this  last  in  with  a  sudden  grace 
and  sweetness  that  contrasted  strange- 
ly with  her  usual  shar])ness. 

Zoe  heard,  and  turned  round  to 
look  down  on  her  with  a  smile  as 
sweet  as  honey.  "I  hardly  think 
that  is  a  drawback,"  said  she,  amica- 
bly. "Does  not  being  able  to  leave 
a  place  make  it  sweeter?  for  then  we 
are  free  in  it,  you  know.  But  I  must 
own  there  is  a  drawback — the  boys' 
faces.  Miss  Gale,  they  are  so  pasty." 

"Indeed!"  says  Khoda,  pricking 
u])  her  ears. 

"Form  no  false  hopes  of  an  epi- 
demic. This  is  not  an  infirmary  in 
a  wood.  Miss  Gale,"  said  Vizard. 
"My  sister  is  a  great  colorist,  and 
jiitches  her  expectations  too  high.  I 
tlare  say  their  faces  are  not  more 
pasty  than  usual  ;  but  this  is  a  show 
|)lace,  and  looks  like  a  garden ;  so 
Zoe  wants  the  boys  to  be  poppies  and 
])ansies,  and  the  girls  roses  and  lilies. 
Which — they — are — not." 

"All  I  know  is,"  said  Zoe,  resolute- 
ly, "that  in  Islip  the  children's  faces 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


137 


are  rosy,  but  here  they  are  pasty — 
dreadfully  pasty." 

"Well,  you  have  got  a  box  of  col- 
ors. We  will  come  up  some  day  and 
tiut  all  the  putty-faced  boys."  It  was 
to  Miss  Dover  the  company  owed  this 
suggestion. 

"No,"  said  Rhoda.  "Their  faces 
are  my  business ;  I'll  soon  fi.x  them. 
She  didn't  say  putty-faced ;  she  said 
pasty." 

"  Grateful  to  you  for  the  distinction, 
Miss  Gale, "  said"  Zoe. 

Miss  Gale  proceeded  to  insist  that 
boys  are  not  pasty-faced  without  a 
cause,  and  it  is  to  be  sought  lower 
down.  "Ah!"  cried  she,  suddenly, 
"is  that  a  clierry  that  I  see  before 
me?  No,  a  million.  Tiiey  steal  them 
and  eat  them  by  the  thousand,  and 
that's  why.  Tell  the  truth,  now,  ev- 
ery body — they  eat  the  stones." 

Miss  Vizard  said  she  did  not  know, 
but  thought  them  capable. 

"Cliildren  know  notiiing,"  said  Viz- 
ard. "  riease  address  all  future  sci- 
entific inquiries  to  an  'old  inhabitant.' 
Miss  Gale,  the  country  abounds  in  cu- 
riosities ;  but,  among  those  curiosities, 
even  Science,  with  her  searching  eye, 
has  never  yet  discovered  an  unswal- 
lowed  cherry-stone  in  Ilillstoke  vil- 
lage." 

"What!  not  on  tlie  tj-ecs?" 

"She  is  too  much  for  me.  Drive 
on,  coachman,  and  drown  her  rejilies 
in  the  clatter  of  hoofs.  Round  by  the 
Stag,  Zoe.  I  am  uneasy  till  I  have 
locked  Fair  Science  up.  I  own  it  is  a 
mean  way  of  getting  rid  of  a  trouble- 
some disputant." 

"Now  I  think  it  is  quite  fair," said 
Fanny.  "She  shuts  you  up,  and  so 
you  lock  her  up." 

"'Tis  well,"  said  Vizard,  dolefully. 
"  Now  I  am  No. :? — I  wlio  used  to  re- 
tort and  keep  girls  in  their  ))laces  — 
with  diihculty.  Here  is  Ned  Severne, 
too,  reduced  to  silence.  Why,  where's 
yoin-  tongue?  Miss  Gale,  you  would 
hardly  believe  it,  this  is  our  chatter- 
bo.x.  We  have  been  days  and  days, 
and  could  not  get  in  a  word  edgeways 


for  him.  But  now  all  he  can  do  is  to 
gaze  on  you  with  canine  devotion,  and 
devour  the  honey — I  beg  pardon,  tiie 
lime-juice — of  your  lips.  I  warn  you 
of  one  thing,  thougli ;  there  is  such  a 
thing  as  a  threatening  silence.  He  is 
evidently  booking  every  word  you  ut- 
ter; and  he  will  deliver  it  all  for  his 
own  behind  your  back  some  fine  day." 

With  this  sort  of  banter  and  small- 
talk,  not  worth  deluging  the  reader 
dead  with,  they  passed  away  the  time 
till  they  reached  the  farm. 

"You  stay  here,"  said  Vizard  — 
"all  but  Zoe.  Tom  and  George,  get 
the  things  out."  The  grooms  had  al- 
ready jumped  out  of  the  dog-cart,  and 
two  were  at  the  horses'  heads.  Tlie 
ste])- ladder  was  placed  for  Zoe,  and 
Vizard  asked  her  to  go  in  and  see  the 
rooms  were  all  right,  while  he  took 
^liss  Gale  to  the  stables.  He  did  so, 
and  showed  iier  a  spirited  Galloway 
and  a  steaily  old  horse,  and  told  her 
she  could  ride  one  and  drive  the  other 
all  over  the  coinitry. 

She  thanked  him,  but  said  her  at- 
tention would  be  occupied  by  the  two 
villages  first,  and  she  sliould  make  him 
a  report  in  fort^'-eight  hours. 

"As  you  please," said  he.  "You 
are  terribly  in  earnest." 

"  What  should  I  be  worth  if  I  was 
not  ?■' 

"Well,  come  and  see  your  shell; 
and  you  must  tell  me  if  we  have  for- 
gotten anv  thing  essential  to  vour  com- 
fort." 

She  followed  him,  and  he  led  her  to 
a  wing  of  the  farm-house  comparative- 
ly new,  and  quite  superior  to  the  rest. 
Here  were  two  good  sunny  looms, 
with  windows  looking  south  and  west, 
and  they  were  both  pajjcred  with  a 
white  watered  pattern,  and  a  pretty 
Frencii  boi'der  of  fiowers  at  the  upper 
part,  to  look  gay  and  cheerful. 

Zoe  was  in  the  bedroom,  arranging 
things  with  a  pretty  air  of  hosjiitality. 
It  was  cheerily  lilted  up,  and  a  fire  of 
beech  logs  blazing. 

"How  good  you  are!" said  Rhoda, 


138 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


looking  wistfully  at  her.  TJiit  Zee 
checked  all  coiiinieiits  by  asking  her 
to  look  at  t!ie  sitting-room  and  see  if 
it  would  do.  liiioda  would  rather 
liave  staid  with  Zoe ;  hut  she  com- 
plied, and  found  another  bright,  cheer- 
i'ul  room,  and  Vizard  standing  in  the 
middle  of  it.  There  was  another 
beecli  fire  blazing,  thougli  it  was  hot 
weather.  Here  was  a  round  table, 
with  a  large  pot  full  of  flowers,  gera- 
niums and  musk  flowers  outside,  with 
the  sun  gilding  their  green  leaves  most 
amiably,  and  every  thing  unpretend- 
ing, but  briglit  and  comfortable  ;  well- 
padded  sofa,  luxurious  arm-chair, 
stand-up  reading-desk,  and  a  very  large 
knee-hole  table;  a  fine  mirror  from 
the  ceiling  to  the  dado ;  a  book-case 
with  choice  books,  and  on  a  pembroke 
table  near  the  wall  were  several  ])eri- 
odicals.  Rhoda,  after  a  cursory  sur- 
vey of  the  room,  flew  to  the  books. 
"Oh!"said  she,  "  wiiat  good  booksl 
all  standard  works ;  and  several  on 
medicine ;  and,  I  declare,  the  last 
numbers  of  the  Lancet  and  the  Med- 
ical (iazelte,  and  the  very  best  French 
and  German  periodicals!  Oh,  wiiat 
have  I  done?  and  what  can  I  ever 
do?" 

"AVhat!  Arc  you  going  to  gusli 
like  the  rest  —  and  about  nothing?" 
said  Vizard.  "Tiien  I'm  oft".  Come 
along,  Zoe;"  and  he  hurried  his  sis- 
ter away. 

She  came  at  the  word  ;  but  as  soon 
as  they  were  out  of  the  house,  asked 
him  what  was  the  matter. 

"  I  thought  she  was  going  to  gush. 
But  I  dare  say  it  was  a  false  alarm." 

"And  wiiy  shouldn't  she  gush, 
when  you  have  been  so  kind?" 

"Tooh  —  nonsense!  I  have  not 
been  kind  to  her,  and  don't  mean  to 
be  kind  to  her,  or  to  any  woman  ;  be- 
sides, she  must  not  be  allowed  to  gush ; 
she  is  the  parisli  virago  —  imp(jrted 
from  vast  distances  as  such — and  for 
her  to  i)lay  the  woman  would  i)e  an 
abominable  breach  of  faith.  We  iiave 
got  our  gusher,  likewise  our  flirt ;  and 
it  was  understood  from  the  first  that 


this  was  to  be  a  new  dramatis  persona 
— was  not  to  be  a  repetition  of  you  or 
/a  Dover,  but — ahem — thethird  Grace, 
a  virago  :   solidified  vinegar." 

Rhoda  Gale  felt  very  happy.  She 
was  young,  iiealthy,  and)itious,  and 
sanguine.  She  divined  that,  some- 
how, her  torning-point  had  come ;  and 
when  she  contrasted  her  condition  a 
month  ago,  and  the  hardness  of  the 
world,  with  the  comfort  and  kindness 
that  now  surrounded  her,  and  the 
magnanimity  which  fled,  not  to  be 
thanked  for  them,  she  felt  for  once  in 
a  way  humble  as  well  as  grateful,  and 
said  to  herself,  "It  is  not  to  myself 
nor  any  merit  of  mine  I  owe  sucli  a 
change  as  all  this  is."  What  some 
call  religion,  and  others  superstition, 
overpowered  her,  and  she  kneeled 
down  and  hekl  communion  with  that 
great  Spirit  which,  as  she  believed, 
pervades  the  material  utii verse,  and 
probably  arises  from  it,  as  harmony 
from  the  well- strung  harp.  Theory 
of  the  day,  or  Plato  redivivus — which 
is  it? 

''O  great  creative  element,  and 
stream  of  tendencies  in  the  universe, 
whereby  all  things  struggle  toward 
perfection,  deign  to  be  the  recipient 
of  that  gratitude  which  fills  me,  and 
can  not  be  silent ;  and  since  gratitude 
is  riglit  ill  all,  and  most  of  all  in  me 
at  this  moment,  forgive  me  if,  in  the 
weakness  of  my  intellect,  I  fall  into 
the  old  error  of  addressing  you  as  an 
individual.  It  is  but  the  weakness  of 
the  heart ;  we  are  persons,  and  so 
we  cry  out  for  a  personal  God  to  be 
grateful  to.  Pray  receive  it  so — if, 
indeed,  these  words  of  mine  have  any 
access  to  your  infinitely  superior  7iat- 
ure.  And  if  it  is  true  that  you  influ- 
ence the  mind  of  man,  and  are  by  any 
act  of  positive  volition  the  cause  of 
tliese  benefits  I  now  profit  by,  then 
pray  influence  my  mind  in  turn,  and 
make  me  a  more  worthy  recipient  of 
all  tliese  favors;  above  all,  inspire  me 
to  keep  faithfully  to  my  own  sphere, 
which  is  on  earth ;   to  be  good  and 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


139 


kind  and  tolerant  to  my  fellow-creat- 
ures, perverse  as  tliey  are  sometimes, 
and  not  content  myself  witli  saying 
good  words  to  you,  to  wliose  informa- 
tion I  can  add  notiiing,  nor  yet  to 
your  happiness,  by  any  words  of  mine. 
Let  no  hollow  sentiment  of  religion 
keep  me  long  prating  on  my  knees, 
when  life  is  so  short,  and"  (jumping 
suddenly  up)  "my  duties  can  only  be 
discharged  afoot." 

Refreshed  by  this  aspiration,  the 
like  of  wliich  I  have  not  yet  heard 
delivered  in  churclies — but  the  rising 
generation  will  perhaps  be  more  fort- 
unate in  that  respect — she  went  into 
tlie  kitchen,  ordered  tea,  bread-and- 
butter,  and  one  egg  for  dinner  at  sev- 
en o'clock,  and  walked  instantly  back 
to  Hillstoke  to  inspect  the  village,  ac- 
cording to  her  ideas  of  inspection. 

Next  morning  down  comes  the  bail- 
iff's head  man  in  his  light  cart,  and 
a  note  is  delivered  to  Vizard  at  tlie 
breakfast  table.  lie  reads  it  to  him- 
self, then  proclaims  silence,  and  reads 
it  aloud : 

"Dear  Sir, — As  we  crossed  your 
hall  to  luncheon,  there  was  the  door 
of  a  small  room  half  open,  and  I  saw 
a  large  maliogany  case  standing  on  a 
marble  table  with  one  leg,  but  three 
claws  gilt.  I  saw  'Micro'  printed  on 
the  case.  So  I  hope  it  is  a  micro- 
scope, and  a  fine  one.  To  enable  you 
to  find  it,  if  you  don't  know,  tlie  room 
had  crimson  curtains,  and  is  papered 
in  green  flock.  That  is  the  worst  of 
all  the  jjoisonous  i>apers,  because  the 
texture  is  loose,  and  the  poisonous 
stuff  easily  detached,  and  always  fly- 
ing about  the  room.  I  hope  you  do 
not  sit  in  it,  nor  Miss  Vizard,  because 
sitting  in  that  room  is  courting  death. 
Please  lend  me  the  microscope,  if  it 
is  one,  and  I'll  soon  show  you  wiiy  the 
boys  are  imtly-faced.  I  have  inspect- 
ed them,  and  find  Miss  Dover's  epi- 
thet more  exact  than  Miss  Vizard's, 
which  is  singular.  I  will  take  great 
care  of  it.     Yours  respectfully, 

"RuoDA  Gale." 


Vizard  ordered  a  servant  to  de- 
liver the  microscope  to  jNliss  Gale's 
messenger  with  his  compliments. 
Fanny  wondered  what  she  wanted 
with  it.  "Not  to  inspect  our  little 
characters,  it  is  to  be  hoped,"  said 
Vizard.  "Why  not  pay  her  a  visit, 
you  ladies?  tiien  she  will  tell  you, 
perhaps."  The  ladies  instantly  wore 
that  bland  look  of  inert  but  rocky  re- 
sistance I  have  already  noted  as  a 
characteristic  of  "our  girls."  Viz- 
ard saw,  and  said,  "Try  and  persuade 
them,  Uxmoor." 

"I  can  only  offer  Miss  Vizard  my 
escort,"  said  Lord  Uxmoor. 

"And  I  offer  both  ladies  mine," 
said  Ned  Severne,  rather  loud  and 
with  a  little  sneer,  to  mark  his  su- 
perior breeding.  The  gentleman  was 
so  extremely  polite  in  general  that 
there  was  no  mistaking  his  hostile  in- 
tentions now.  The  inevitable  war  liad 
begun,  and  the  first  shot  was  fired. 
Of  course  the  wonder  was  it  had  not 
come  long  before ;  and  perhaps  I 
ought  to  have  drawn  more  attention 
to  tlie  delicacy  and  tact  of  Zoe  Viz- 
ard, Avhicli  had  averted  it  for  a  time. 
To  be  sure,  she  had  been  aided  by  the 
size  of  the  iiouse  and  its  habits.  The 
ladies  had  tlieir  own  sitting-rooms; 
Fanny  kept  close  to  Zoe  by  special 
orders ;  and  nobody  could  get  a 
chance  tite-a-  lite  with  Zoe  unless 
she  chose.  By  this  means,  by  her 
native  dignity  and  watchful  tact,  by 
her  frank  courtesy  to  L'xmoor,  and 
by  the  many  little  quiet  ways  she 
took  to  show  Severne  her  sentiments 
remained  unchanged,  she  had  man- 
aged to  keep  the  jjcace,  and  avert 
that  open  competition  for  her  favor 
which  would  have  tickled  the  vanity 
of  a  Fanny  Dover,  i)nt  shocked  the 
refined  modesty  of  a  Zoe  Vizard. 

IJiit  nature  will  have  her  way  soon' 
or  late,  ami  it  is  the  nature  of  males 
to  fight  for  the  female. 

At  .Severne's  shot  Uxmoor  drew  up 
a  little  haughtily,  but  did  not  feel  sure 
any  thing  was  intended,  lie  was  lit- 
tle accustomed  to  rubs.     Zoe,  on  the 


140 


A  WOMAN-IIATEK. 


other  hand,  turned  a  little  pale — ^just 
a  little,  for  she  was  sorry,  but  not  sur- 
prised ;  so  she  proved  equal  to  the  oc- 
casion. She  smiled  and  made  light 
of  it.  "  Of  course  we  are  all  going," 
said  slie. 

"  Except  one,"  said  Vizard,  drjly. 

"That  is  too  bad,"  said  Fanny. 
"Here  he  drives  us  all  to  visit  his 
blue-stocking,  but  he  takes  good  care 
not  to  go  himself." 

"Perhaps  he  prefers  to  visit  her 
alone,"  suggested  Severue.  Zoe  look- 
ed alarmed. 

"That  is  so,"  said  Vizard.  " Ob- 
serve, I  am  learning  her  very  phrases. 
When  you  come  back,  tell  ine  every 
word  she  s.iys ;  pray  let  nothing  be 
lust  tliat  falls  from  my  virago." 

The  party  started  after  luncheon ; 
and  Severne,  true  to  his  new  policy, 
whipped  to  Zoe's  side  before  Uxmoor, 
and  engaged  her  at  once  in  conversa- 
tion. 

Uxmoor  bit  his  lip,  and  full  to  Fan- 
ny. Fanny  saw  at  ,once  wliat  was 
going  on,  and  made  herself  very 
agreeable  to  Uxmoor.  He  was  po- 
lite and  a  little  gratified,  but  cast  un- 
easy glances  at  tlie  other  pair. 

Meantime  Severne  was  improving 
liis  opijortunity.  "Sorry  to  disturb 
Lord  Uxmoor's  monopoly,"  said  he, 
sarcastically,  "but  I  could  not  bear  it 
auii'  longer." 

"I  do  not  object  to  the  change," 
said  Zoe,  smiling  maternally  on  him; 
"  but  you  will  be  good  enough  to  imi- 
tate me  in  one  thing — you  will  always 
be  polite  to  Lord  Uxmoor." 

"He  makes  it  rather  hard." 

"It  is  only  for  a  time;  and  we 
must  all  learn  to  be  ca])able  of  self-de- 
nial. I  assure  you  1  have  exercised 
(juite  as  much  as  I  ask  of  you.  Ed- 
ward, he  is  a  gentleman  of  great  worth, 
universally  respected,  and  my  brother 
has  a  particidar  wish  to  be  fiiends 
with  him.  So  jnay  he  patient;  be 
considerate.  Have  a  little  faitli  in  one 
who—" 

She  did  not  end  the  sentence. 

"Well,  I   will,"  said   he.      "But 


please  think  of  me  a  little.  I  am  be- 
ginning to  feel  quite  thrust  aside,  and 
degraded  in  my  own  eyes  for  putting 
u])  with  it." 

"For  shamo,  to  talk  so," said  Zoe ; 
but  the  tears  came  into  her  eyes. 

The  master  of  arts  saw,  and  said  no 
more.  He  had  the  art  of  not  overdo- 
ing :  he  left  the  arrow  to  rankle.  He 
walked  by  her  side  in  silence  for  ever 
so  long.  Tiien,  suddenly,  as  if  by  a 
mighty  eflort  of  unselfish  love,  went 
off  into  deliglitful  discourse.  He 
cooed  and  wooed  and  flattered  and 
fascinated ;  and  by  the  time  they 
reached  the  farm,  had  driven  Uxmoor 
out  of  her  head. 

Miss  (iale  was  out.  The  farmer's 
wife  said  she  iiad  gone  into  the  town 
—  meaning  Hillstoke  —  wiiich  was, 
strictly  speaking,  a  hamlet  or  tribu- 
tary village.  Hillstoke  church  was 
only  twelve  years  old,  and  the  tithes 
of  the  place  went  to  the  parson  of  Is- 
lip. 

When  Zoe  turned  to  go,  Uxmoor 
seized  the  opportunity,  and  drew  up 
beside  her,  like  a  soldier  falling  into 
the  ranks.  Zoe  felt  hot ;  but  as  Sev- 
erne  took  no  open  notice,  she  could 
not  help  smiling  at  the  behavior  of 
the  fellows ;  and  Uxmoor  got  his 
chance. 

Sevcrne  turned  to  Fanny  with  a 
wicked  sneer.  ' '  Very  well,  my  lord, " 
said  he;  "  but  I  have  put  a  sjjoke  in 
your  wheel." 

"As  if  I  did  not  see,  you  clever 
creature!"  said  Fanny,  admiringly. 

"Ah,  iliss  Dover,  I  need  to  be  as 
clever  as  you !  See  what  I  have 
against  me :  a  rich  lord,  with  the 
busliiest  beard.' 

"  Never  you  mind,"  said  Fanny. 
"  Good  wine  needs  no  bush,  ha!  ha! 
You  are  lovel_v,  and  have  a  wheedling 
tongue,  and  you  were  there  first.  Be 
good,  now — and  you  can  flirt  with  me 
to  fill  up  the  time.  I  hate  not  l)eing 
flirted  at  all.     It  is  stagnation." 

"Yes,  but  it  is  not  so  easy  to  flirt 
with  you  just  a  little.  You  are  so 
charming."    Thereupon  he  proceeded 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


Ui 


to  flatter  her,  and  wonder  how  he 
had  escaped  a  passionate  attacliment 
to  so  brilliant  a  creattire.  "What 
saved  me,"  said  he,  oracularly,  "is, 
that  I  never  could  love  two  at  once ; 
and  Zoe  seized  my  love  at  sight.  She 
left  me  nothing  to  lay  at  your  feet  but 
my  admiration,  tlie  tenderest  fiiend- 
ship  man  can  feel  for  woman,  and  my 
life-long  gratitude  for  fighting  my  bat- 
tle. Oh,  Miss  Dover,  I  must  be  quite 
serious  a  moment.  What  other  lady 
but  you  would  be  so  generous  as  to 
befriend  a  poor  man  with  another 
lady,  when  there's  wealth  and  title  on 
the  other  side?" 

Fanny  blushed  and  softened,  but 
turned  it  off.  "  There — no  heroics, 
please,"  said  she.  "  You  are  a  dear 
little  fellow ;  and  don't  go  and  be 
jealous,  for  he  slia'n't  have  her.  He 
would  never  ask  me  to  his  house,  you 
know.  Now  I  think  you  would,  per- 
haps— who  knows?  Tell  me,  fiisci- 
nating  monster,  are  you  going  to  be 
ungrateful?" 

"  Not  to  you.  My  home  would  al- 
ways be  yours;  and  you  know  it." 
And  he  caught  her  hand  and  kissed 
it  in  an  ungovernable  transport,  the 
strings  of  which  he  pulled  himself. 
He  took  care  to  be  quick  about  it, 
though,  and  not  let  Z(>e  or  Uxinoor 
see,  who  were  walking  on  before  and 
behaving  sedately. 

In  Hillstoke  lived,  on  a  pension 
from  Vizard,  old  Mrs.  Greenaway, 
rheumatic  about  the  lower  jcjints,  so 
she  went  on  crutches ;  but  she  went 
fast,  being  vigorous,  and  so  did  her 
tongue.  At  Ilillstoke  she  was  Dame 
Greenaway,  being  a  relic  of  that  gen- 
eration which  applied  the  word  dame 
to  every  wife,  higii  and  low;  but  at  Is- 
lip  she  was  "Sally,"  because  she  had 
started  under  that  title,  fifty-five  years 
ago,  as  house-maid  at  Vizard  Court; 
and,  by  the  tenacity  of  oral  tradition, 
retained  it  ever  since,  in  sjiite  of  two 
iiusi)ands  she  had  wedded  and  buried 
with  ecpial  composure. 

Her    feet    were    still    spring^-,   her 
arms  strong  as  iron,  and  her  crutches 


active.  At  sight  of  our  party  she 
came  out  with  amazing  wooden 
strides,  agog  for  gossip,  and  met  them 
at  the  gate.  She  managed  to  indi- 
cate a  courtesy,  and  said,  "Good- 
day,  miss  ;  your  sarvant,  all  the  com- 
pany. Lord,  how  nice  you  be  dress- 
ed, all  on  ye,  to — be  —  sure!  Well, 
miss,  have  ve  heerd  the  news  ?" 
"No,  Sally.  What  is  it?" 
"What!  haant  ye  heerd  about  the 
young  'oman  at  the  farm  ?" 

"Oh  yes ;  we  came  to  see  her." 
"No,  did  ye  now?  Well,  she  was 
here  not  half  an  hour  agone.  By  the 
same  toaken,  I  did  put  her  a  question, 
and  she  answered  me  then  and  there." 
"And  may  I  ask  what  the  question 
was  ?" 

"And  welcome,  miss.  I  said,  says 
I,  'Young  'oman,  where  be  you  come 
from  ?'  so  says  she,  '  Old  'oman,  I  be 
come  from  forin  parts.'  'I  thought 
as  much,'  says  I.  'And  what  be  'e 
come /or?'  'To  sojourn  here,'  says 
she,  wliich  she  meant  to  bide  a  time. 
'And  what  do  'e  count  to  do  whilst 
here  you  be?'  says  I.  Says  she,  'As 
much  good  as  ever  I  can  do,  and  as 
little  harm.'  'That  is  no  answer,' 
says  I.  She  said  it  would  do  for  the 
present;  'and  good -day  to  yon, 
ma'am,'  says  she.  'Your  sarvant, 
miss,'  says  I ;  and  she  was  off  like  a 
flash.  jjut  I  called  my  grandson 
Bill,  and  I  told  him  he  must  follow 
her,  go  where  she  would,  and  let  us 
know  what  she  was  up  to  down  in 
Islip.  Then  I  went  round  the  neigli- 
bors,  and  one  told  me  one  talc,  and 
anotiier  another.  ]5ut  it  all  comes 
to  one — we  have  gotten  a  iu'syuody  ; 
that's  the  name  I  gives  her.  She 
don't  give  in  to  that,  ye  know ;  she  is 
a  Latincr,  and  speaks  according.  She 
gave  Master  (iiles  her  own  descrip- 
tion. Says  she,  Tin  stispector-gen- 
cral  of  this  here  districk.'  So  then 
Giles  he  was  skeared  a  bit — he  have 
got  an  acre  of  land  of  his  own,  yoa 
know — and  he  iqi  and  asked  her  did 
she  come  under  tlie  taxes,  or  was  she 
a  fresh  imposition ;  '  for  we  are  bur- 


142 


A  WOMAN-IIATEH. 


dcricd  enough  a'lcndy,  no  offense  to  ' 
you,  miss,' says  Josh  Giles.  'Don't 
you  be  skeuiedj  old  man,'  says  she,  '  I 
sha'n't  cost  you  none ;  your  betters 
pays  for  I.'  tSo  says  Giles,  '  Oh,  if 
you  falls  on  squire,  I  don't  vally  that ; 
squire's  back  is  broad  enough  to  bear 
the  load,  but  I'm  a  poor  man.'  That's 
how  a'  goes  on,  ye  know.  Poverty  is 
always  in  his  mouth,  but  the  old  chap 
have  got  a  hatful  of  money  hid  away 
in  the  thatch  or  some're,  only  he 
haant  a  got  tiie  heart  to  spend  it." 

"Tell  us  more  about  the  young 
lady,"  asked  Uxmoor. 

'"'What  young  lady?  Oh,  her. 
She  is  not  a  young  lady  —  leastways 
she  is  not  dressed  like  one,  but  like  a 
j)lain,  decent  body.  She  was  all  of  a 
piece — blue  serge !  Bless  your  heart, 
the  peddlers  bring  it  round  liero  at 
elevenjience  half-])enny  the  yard,  and 
a  good  breadth  too  ;  and  plain  boots, 
not  heeled  like  your'n,  miss,  nor 
your'n,  ma'am  ;  and  a  felt  hat  like  a 
boy.  You'd  say  tiie  parish  had  dress- 
ed her  for  ten  siiillings,  and  got  a  pot 
of  beer  out  on't." 

"  Well,  never  mind  that,"  said  Zoe ; 
"  I  must  tell  you  she  is  a  very  worthy 
young  lady,  and  my  brother  has  a  re- 
spect for  lier.  Dress?  Why,  Sally, 
you  know  it  is  not  the  wisest  tliat 
s[)end  most  on  dress.  You  might  tell 
us  what  she  does." 

Dame  Greenaway  snatched  tlie 
word  out  of  her  moutli.  "  Well, 
then,  miss,  what  slie  have  done,  she 
liave  susjjected  every  thing.  Siie 
have  suspected  the  ponds ;  she  have 
suspected  the  houses ;  she  liave  sus- 
pected the  folk  ;  she  must  know  what 
they  cat  and  drink  and  wear  next 
their  very  skin,  and  what  they  do  lie 
down  on.  She  have  been  at  the  very 
boys  and  forbade  'em  to  swallow  the 
cherry-stones,  poor  things;  but  old 
Mrs.  Nash — which  her  boys  lives  on 
cherries  at  this  time  o'  year,  and  to 
be  sure  they  are  a  godsend  to  keep 
the  children  liereabout  from  starving 
— well,  Dame  Is'ash  told  her  the  Al- 
mighty knew  best ;    he  iiad  put  'em 


together  on  the  tree,  so  why  not  in 
the  boys'  insides ;  and  that  was  com- 
mon sense  to  my  mind.  But  la  I  she 
wouldn't  heed  it.  She  said,  *  Then 
you'd  eat  the  jjeach -stones  by  that 
rule,  and  the  fish  bones  and  all.' 
Says  she,  quite  resolute  like,  '1  forbid 
'em  to  swallow  the  stones;'  and  says 
slie,  'Ye  mawnt  gainsay  me,  none  on 
ye,  for  I  be  the  new  doctor.'  So  then 
it  all  come  out.  She  isn't  suspector- 
general ;  she  is  a  wench  turned  doctor, 
which  it  is  against  reason.  Sha'n't 
doctor  me  for  one  ;  but  that  there  old 
Giles,  he  s.nys  he  is  agreeable,  if  so  be 
she  wool  doctor  him  cheap  —  cussed 
old  fool! — as  if  any  doctoring  was 
cheap  that  kills  a  body  and  doan't 
cure  'em.  Dear  heart,  I  forgot  to 
tell  ye  about  the  ponds.  Well,  you 
know  there  be  no  wells  here.  We 
makes  our  tea  out  of  the  ponds,  and 
capital  good  tea  to  drink,  fir  before 
well  water,  for  I  mind  that  one  day 
about  twenty  years  agone  some  inter- 
fering body  did  cart  a  barrel  up  from 
Isliji ;  and  if  we  wants  water  without- 
en  tea,  why,  we  can  get  plenty  on't, 
and  none  too  much  malt  and  hojis,  at 
'The  Black  Horse.'  So  this  here 
young  'oman  she  suspects  the  poor 
jjonds,  and  casts  a  hevil-eye  on  them, 
and  she  borrows  two  mugs  of  Giles, 
and  carries  the  water  home  to  suspect 
it  closer.  That  is  all  she  have  done 
at  present,  but,  ye  see,  she  haant  been 
here  so  very  long.  You  mark  my 
words,  miss,  that  young  'oman  will 
turn  Hillstoke  village  topsy-turvy  or 
ever  she  goes  back  to  London  town." 

"Nonsense,  Sally,"  said  Zoe; 
"who  can  any  body  do  that  while  my 
bi'other  and  1  are  alive?''  She  then 
slipped  half  a  crown  into  Sallj's  hand, 
and  led  the  way  to  Isli]). 

On  the  road  her  conversation  with 
Uxmoor  took  a  turn  suggestive  of  this 
interview.  I  forget  wliich  began  it; 
but  they  differed  a  little  in  opinion, 
U.xmoor  admiring  Miss  Gale's  zeal 
and  activity,  and  Zoe  fearing  that  she 
would  prove  a  rash  reformer,  perhaps 
a  reckless  innovator. 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


143 


"  And  really,"  said  she,  "  why  dis- 
turb things?  for,  go  where  I  will,  I 
see  no  such  Paradise  as  these  two 
villages." 

"  They  are  indeed  lovely,"  said  Ux- 
moor;  "hut  my  own  village  is  very 
pretty.  Yet  on  nearer  inspection  I 
liave  found  so  many  detects,  especial- 
ly in  the  internal  arrangements  of  the 
cottages,  that  I  am  always  glad  to  hear 
of  a  new  eye  having  come  to  bear  on 
any  village." 

"I  know  you  are  very  good,"  said 
Zee,  "  and  wish  all  the  poor  people 
about  you  to  be  as  healthy  and  as  hap- 
py as  possible." 

"  1  really  do,"  said  Uxmoor,  warm- 
ly. "I  often  think  of  the  strange  in- 
equality in  the  lot  of  men.  Living  in 
the  country,  I  see  around  mc  hundreds 
of  men  who  are  by  nature  as  worthy 
as  1  am,  or  thereabouts.  Yet  they 
must  toil  and  labor,  and  indeed  fight, 
for  bare  food  and  clothing  all  their 
lives,  and  worse  otVat  the  close  of  their 
long  labor.  That  is  what  grieves  me 
to  the  heart.  All  this  time  I  revel  in 
plenty  and  luxuries  —  not  forgetting 
the  luxury  of  luxuries,  the  delight  of 
giving  to  those  who  need  and  deserve. 
What  have  I  done  for  all  this?  I 
have  been  born  of  the  rigiit  jiarents. 
My  merit,  then,  is  the  accident  of  an 
accident.  But  having  done  nothing 
meritorious  before  I  was  born,  surely 
I  ought  to  begin  afterward.  1  think 
a  man  born  to  wealth  ought  to  doubt 
his  moral  title  to  it,  and  ought  to  set 
to  work  to])rove  it — ought  to  set  him- 
self to  repair  tlie  injustice  of  fortune 
by  which  he  profits.  Yes,  such  a 
man  shoidil  be  a  sort  of  human  sun- 
shine, and  difi'iise  blessings  all  round 
him.  'J'he  poor  man  that  encounters 
liim  ought  to  bless  the  accident.  But 
there,  1  am  not  elo(|uent.  You  know 
how  much  more  1  mean  than  I  can 
say." 

"Indeed  I  do,"  said  Zoe,  "and  I 
honor  you." 

"All,  Miss  Vizard,"  said  Uxmoor, 
"that  is  more  than  I  can  ever  de- 
serve. " 


"  You  are  praising  me  at  your  own 
expense,"  said  Zoe.  "  Well,  then," 
said  she,  sweetly,  "please  accept  my 
sympathy.  It  is  so  rare  to  find  a  gen- 
tleman of  your  age  thinking  so  little 
of  himself  and  so  much  of  poor  people. 
Yet  that  is  a  Divine  command.  But 
somehow  we  forget  our  religion  out  of 
church — most  of  us.  I  am  sure  I  do, 
for  one." 

This  conversation  brought  them  to 
the  village,  and  there  they  met  Viz- 
ard, and  Zoe  repeated  old  Sally's  dis- 
course to  him  word  for  word.  He 
shook  his  head  solemnly,  and  said  lie 
shared  her  misgivings.  "We  have 
caught  a  Tartar." 

On  arriving  at  Vizard  Court,  they 
found  Miss  Gale  had  called  and  left 
two  cards. 

Open  rivalry  liaving  now  com- 
menced between  Uxmoor  and  Sev- 
erne,  his  lordship  was  adroit  enough 
to  contrive  that  the  drag  should  be  in 
request  next  day. 

Then  ISeverne  got  Fanny  to  convey 
a  note  to  Zoe,  imploring  her  to  open 
her  bedroom  window  and  say  good- 
night to  him  the  last.  "Tor,"  said 
he,  "I  have  no  coach  and  four,  and  I 
am  very  unhappy." 

Tiiis  and  liis  staying  sullenly  at 
home  spoiled  Zoe's  ride,  and  she  was 
cool  to  Uxmoor,  and  spoiled  his  drive. 

At  night  Zoe  peeped  through  the 
curtain  and  saw  Severne  standing  in 
the  moonlight.  She  drank  him  in  for 
some  time  in  silence,  then  softly  ojien- 
ed  her  window  and  looked  out.  He 
took  a  step  nearer. 

She  said,  very  softly  and  tenderly, 
"  You  are  very  naughty  and  very  fool- 
ish. Go  to  bed  f/t-rectly."  And  she 
closed  her  window  with  a  valiant  slain  ; 
then  sat  down  and  sighed. 

Same  game  next  day.  Uxmoor 
driving,  Zoe  wonderfidly  polite,  but 
chill,  because  he  was  separating  her 
and  Severne.  At  night,  Severne  on 
the  wet  grass,  and  Zoe  remonstrat- 
ing severely,  but  not  sincerely,  and 
closing  the  window  peremptorily  she 


144 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


would  have  liked  to  keep  open  half 
the  night. 

It  has  often  been  remarked  tliat 
great  things  arise  out  of  small  tilings, 
and  sometimes,  when  in  full  motion, 
depend  on  small  tilings.  History  of- 
fers brilliant  examples  upon  its  large 
stage.  Fiction  has  imitated  history  in 
«n  verre  d'eau  and  other  compositions. 
To  these  examjjles,  real  or  feigned,  I 
am  now  about  to  add  one  ;  and  the 
curious  reader  may,  if  he  thinks  it 
wortii  while,  note  tiie  various  ramifi- 
cations at  home  and  abroad  of  a  seem- 
ingly trivial  incident. 

They  were  all  seated  at  luncheon, 
when  a  servant  came  in  with  a  salver, 
and  said,  "A  gentleman  (o  see  you, 
sir."  He  presented  his  salver  with  a 
card  upon  it.  Severne  clutched  the 
card,  and  jumped  up,  reddening. 

"  Show  him  in  here,"  said  the  hos- 
pitable Vizard. 

"No,  no,"  cried  Severne,  rather 
nervously  ;  "  it  is  my  lawyer  on  a  lit- 
tle ])rivate  business." 

Vizard  told  the  servant  to  show  the 
visitor  into  the  library,  and  take  in  the 
Madeira  and  some  biscuits. 

"  It  is  about  a  lease,"  said  Xed  Sev- 
erne, and  went  out  rather  hurriedlv. 

"La!"  said  Fanny,  "what  a  curi- 
ous name — Foikilus.'  And  what  does 
S.  I.  mean,  I  wonder?" 

"This  is  enigmatical  discourse,  "said 
Vizard,  dryly.     "  Please  explain." 

"Why,  the  card  had  I'oikilus  on 
it." 

-     "You    are  very  inquisitive,"  said 
Zoe,  coloring. 

"No  more  than  my  neiglibors. 
But  the  man  put  his  salver  right  be- 
tween our  noses,  and  how  could  I  help 
seeing  I'oikilus  in  large  letters,  and  S. 
I.  in  little  ones  up  in  the  corner?" 

Said  Vizard,  "The  female  eye  is 
naturally  swift.  She  couldn't '  help 
seeing  all  that  in  half  a  minute  oftimi- ; 
for  Ned  Severne  snatched  up  the  card 
with  vast  expedition." 

"I  saw  that  too,"  said  Fanny,  de- 
fianilv. 


Uxmoor  put  in  his  word.  "Poi- 
kilus !  That  is  a  name  one  sees  iu 
the  papers." 

"Of  course  you  do.  lie  is  one  of 
the  humbugs  of  the  day.  Pretends 
to  find  things  out ;  advertises  mysteri- 
ous disappearances  ;  offers  a  magniti-  A 
cent  reward— with  perfect  safety,  be-  ■ 
cause  he  has  invented  the  lostgirl's 
features  and  dress,  and  her  disappear- 
ance into  the  bargain  ;  and  I  hold 
with  the  school -men,  that  she  who 
does  not  exist  can  not  disappear. 
Poikilus,  a  jniffing  detective.  S.  I., 
Secret  Inquiry,  /spell  Enquiry  with 
an  E  —  but  Poikilus  is  a  man  of  the 
day.  What  the  deuce  can  Ned  Sev- 
erne want  of  him  ?  I  suppose  I  ought 
not  to  object.  I  have  established  a 
female  detective  at  llillstoke.  So  Ned 
sets  one  up  at  Islip.  I  shall  make  my 
own  secret  arrangements.  If  Poikilus 
settles  here,  he  will  be  drawn  through 
the  horse-pond  by  small-minded  rus- 
tics once  a  week." 

While  he  was  going  on  like  this, 
Zoe  felt  uncomfortalile,  and  almost  ir- 
ritated by  liis  volubility,  and  it  was  a 
relief  to  her  when  Severne  returned. 
He  had  confided  a  most  delicate  case 
to  the  detective,  given  him  written  in- 
structions, and  stipulated  for  his  leav- 
ing the  house  without  a  word  to  any 
one,  and,  indeed,  seen  him  ofi'— all  in 
seven  minutes.  Yet  he  retuined  to 
our  party  cool  as  a  cucumber,  to  throw 
dust  in  every  body's  eyes. 

"I  must  apologize  for  this  intru- 
sion," he  said  to  Vizard;  "but  my 
lawyer  wanted  to  consult  me  about 
the  lease  of  one  of  my  farms,  and,  find- 
ing himself  in  the  neighborhood,  he 
called  instead  of  writing." 

"Your  lawyer,  eh?"  said  Vizard, 
slyly.   ."What  is  your  lawyer's  name?" 

"Jackson,"  said  Ned,  without  a 
moment's  hesitation. 

Fanny  giggled  in  her  own  despite. 

Instead  of  stopping  here,  Severne 
must  go  on  ;  it  was  his  unlucky  day. 

' '  Not  quite  a  gentleman,  you  know, 
or  I  would  have  inflicted  his  society 
on  you." 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


145 


"Not  quite — eh?" said  Harrington, 
so  dryly  that  Fanny  Dover  burst  into 
a  fit  of  uncontrollable  laugliter. 

But  Zoe  turned  hot  and  cold  to  see 
him  blundering  thus,  and  telling  lie 
upon  lie. 

yeverne  saw  there  was  something 
wrong,  and  buried  his  nose  in  jiigeon 
pie.  He  devoured  it  with  an  excel- 
lent appetite,  while  every  eye  rested 
on  him ;  Zoe's  with  shame  and  mis- 
ery, Uxraoor's  with  open  contempt. 
Vizard's  with  good-humored  satire. 

Tiie  situation  became  intolerable 
to  Zoe  Vizard.  Indignant  and  deeply 
shocked  herself,  she  still  could  not 
bear  to  see  him  the  butt  of  others'  rid- 
icule and  contempt.  She  rose  haugh- 
tily and  marched  to  the  door.  He 
raised  his  head  for  a  moment  as  she 
went  out.  She  turned,  and  their  eyes 
met.  She  gave  him  such  a  glance  of 
jiity  and  disdain  as  suspended  the 
meat  upon  his  fork,  and  froze  him 
into  comprehending  that  something 
very  serious  indeed  had  happened. 

He  I'esolved  to  learn  from  Fanny 
what  it  was,  and  act  accordingly. 
But  Zoe's  maid  came  in  and  whisper- 
ed Fanny.  She  went  out,  and  neitiier 
of  the  young  ladies  was  seen  till  din- 
ner-time. It  was  conveyed  to  U.\- 
moor  that  there  would  be  no  excur- 
sion of  any  kind  this  afternoon  ;  and 
therefore  he  took  his  hat,  and  went  oft' 
to  pay  a  visit.  He  called  on  Khoda 
Gale.  She  was  at  home.  He  intend- 
ed merely  to  offer  her  his  respects, 
and  to  side  with  her  generally  against 
these  foolish  rustics;  but  she  was 
jileased  with  him  for  coming,  and 
made  herself  so  agreeable  that  he 
spent  the  whole  afternoon  comjiaring 
notes  with  her  upon  village  life,  and 
the  amelioration  it  was  capable  of. 
Each  could  give  the  other  valuable 
ideas  ;  and  he  said  he  hoped  she  would 
visit  his  |)art  of  the  country  ere  long; 
she  would  find  many  defects,  but  also  a 
great  desire  to  amend  them. 

This   flattered   her,  naturally ;  and 
she  began  to  take  an  interest  in  him. 
That  interest  soon  took  the  form  of 
7 


curiosity,  Slie  must  know  whether 
he  was  seriously  courting  Zoe  Vizard 
or  not.  The  natural  reserve  of  a  well- 
bred  man  withstood  this  at  first ;  but 
that  armor  could  not  resist  for  two 
mortal  hours  such  a  daughter  of  Eve 
as  this,  with  her  insidious  questions, 
her  artful  statements,  her  cat-like  re- 
treats and  cat-like  returns.  She  learn- 
ed— though  he  did  not  see  how  far  he 
had  committed  himself — that  he  ad- 
mired Zoe  Vizard,  and  would  many 
her  to-morrow  if  she  would  have  him  ; 
his  hesitation  to  ask  her,  because  he 
had  a  rival,  whose  jiower  he  could  not 
exactly  measure ;  but  a  formidable 
and  permitted  rival. 

They  parted  almost  friends ;  and 
Khoda  settled  quietly  in  her  mind  he 
should  have  Zoe  Vizard,  since  he  was 
so  fond  of  her. 

Here  again  it  was  Severne's  un- 
lucky day,  and  Uxmoor's  lucky.  To 
carry  this  same  day  to  a  close,  Severne 
tried  more  than  once  to  get  near  Zoe 
and  ask  if  he  had  offended  her,  and  in 
what.  But  no  opportunity  occurred. 
So  then  he  sat  and  gazed  at  her,  and 
looked  unhappy.  She  saw,  and  M'as 
not  unmoved,  but  would  not  do  more 
than  glance  at  him.  He  resigned 
himself  to  wait  till  night. 

Night  came.  He  went  on  the  grass. 
There  was  a  light  in  Zoe's  room. 
It  was  eleven  o'clock.  He  waited, 
shivering,  till  twelve.  Then  the  light 
was  put  out ;  but  no  window  opened. 
There  was  a  moon  ;  and  her  windows 
glared  black  on  him,  dark  and  bright 
as  the  eyes  she  now  averted  from  him. 
He  was  in  disgrace. 

The  present  incident  I  have  re- 
corded did  not  end  here;  and  I  must 
now  follow  Poikilus  on  his  mission  to 
Homburg;  and  if  the  reader  has  a 
sense  of  justice,  methinks  he  will  not 
complain  of  the  journey,  for  see  how 
long  I  have  neglected  the  noblest  fig- 
ure in  this  story,  and  the  most  to  be 
pitied.  To  desert  her  longer  woulil 
be  too  unjust,  and  derange  entirely 
the  balance  of  this  complicated  story. 


U6 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


CIIAPTEIl  XVIII. 

A  CKUEL  mciitnl  stroke,  like  a  heavy 
Mow  upon  the  hody,  sometimes  be- 
iinmhs  and  sickens  at  fust,  but  does 
n<Jt  torture  ;  yet  fliat  is  to  follow. 

It  was  so  with  Ina  Kloskin;;.  The 
day  she  just  missed  Edward  Severne, 
and  he  seemed  to  melt  away  tVom  her 
very  grasp  into  tiie  wide  world  again, 
she  could  drag  herself  to  the  theatre 
and  sing  angelically,  with  u  dull  and 
aching  heart.  But  next  day  her 
heart  entered  on  sharper  suffering. 
.She  was  irritated,  exasperated  ;  chain- 
ed to  the  theatre,  to  Ilomburg,  yet 
wild  to  follow  Severne  to  I'jigland 
■without  delay.  She  told  Ashmead 
she  must  and  would  go.  He  opposed 
it  stoutly,  and  gave  good  reasons. 
She  couid  not  break  faith  with  the 
management.  England  was  a  large 
])lace.  They  had,  as  yet,  no  clue  but 
a  name.  By  waiting,  the  cine  would 
come.  The  sine  course  was  to  give 
publicity  in  England  to  her  winnings, 
and  so  draw  Severne  to  her. 

But  for  once  she  was  too  excited  to 
listen  to  reason.  She  was  temjjest- 
tossed.  "I  vnll  go — I  will  go,"  she 
repeated,  as  she  walked  the  room 
wihlly,  and  flung  her  arms  aloft  with 
reckless  abandon,  and  yet  with  a  ter- 
rilile  miijesty,  an  instinctive  grace,  and 
ail  the  poetry  of  a  great  soul  wronged 
nud  driven  wild. 

Sheoverpowcred  Ashmead  and  drove 
hiui  to  the  director.  He  went  most 
unwillingly;  but  once  there,  was  true 
to  her,  and  begged  off  tlie  engage- 
ment eagerly.  'I'he  director  refused 
this  jiluinp.  Then  Ashmead,  still  true 
to  his  commission,  offered  him  (most 
reluctantly)  a  considera!)le  sum  down 
to  annul  the  contract,  and  backed  this 
with  a  ijniet  hint  that  she  would  cer- 
tainly fall  ill  if  refused.  The  director 
knew  by  exj)erience  what  this  meant, 
and  how  easily  these  ladies  can  com- 
mand the  human  body  to  death's  door 
pro  re  natd,  and  bow  readily  a  doctor's 
certificate  can  be  had  to  say  or  swear 
that  the  great  creature  can  not  sing 


or  act  without  peril  to  life,  though 
really  both  these  arts  arc  grand  medi- 
cines, and  far  less  likely  to  injure  the 
bo7ia  fide  sick  than  are  the  certify- 
ing doctor's  draughts  and  drugs.  The 
director  knew  all  this;  but  he  was 
furious  at  the  disai)pointment  threat- 
ened him.  "No,"  said  he;  "this 
is  always  the  way ;  a  poor  devil  of  u 
manager  is  never  to  have  a  success. 
It  is  treacherous,  it  is  ungrateful :  I'll 
close.  You  tell  her  if  she  is  deter- 
mined to  cut  all  our  throats  and  kick 
her  own  good  fortune  down,  she  can  ; 

but,  by ,  I'll  make  her  smart  for 

it!  ]\Iind,  now;  she  closes  the  the- 
atre and  pays  the  expenses,  if  she 
plavs  me  false." 

"But  if  she  is  ill?" 

"  Let    her   die  and  be  ,  and 

then  I'll  believe  her.  She  is  the 
healthiest  woman  in  Germany.  1 11 
go  and  take  steps  to  have  her  arrested 
if  she  offers  to  leave  the  town." 

Ashmead  rejiorted  the  manager's 
threats,  and  the  Klosking  received 
them  as  a  lioness  the  barking  of  a 
cur.  She  drew  herself  swifily  up, 
and  her  great  eye  gleamed  imperial 
disdain  at  all  his  menaces  but  one. 

"  lie  will  not  really  close  the  thea- 
tre," said  she,  lofiily;  but  uneasiness 
lurked  in  her  manner. 

"He  will,"  said  Ashmead.  "He 
is  desperate  :  and  you  know  it  is  haid 
to  go  on  losing  and  losing,  and  then 
the  moment  luck  turns  to  be  done  out 
of  it,  in  spite  of  a  written  bargain. 
I've  been  a  manager  myself." 

"So  many  poor  people!"  said  Ina, 
with  a  sigh ;  and  lier  defiant  head 
sunk  a  little. 

"  Oh,  bother  them  !"  said  Ashmead, 
craftilv.     "  Let  'em  starve." 

"God  forbid!"  said  Ina.  Then 
she  sighed  again,  and  her  queenly* 
head  sinik  lower.  Then  she  faltered 
out,  "I  have  the  will  to  break  faith 
and  ruin  poor  people,  but  I  have  not 
the  courage." 

Then  a  tear  or  two  began  to  trickle, 
carrying  with  them  all  the  egotistical 
resolution  Ina  Klosking  possessed  at 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


147 


that  time.  Perhaps  we  shall  see  her 
harden  :  nothing  stands  still. 

This  time  the  poor  conquered. 

But  every  now  and  then  for  many 
days  there  were  returns  of  torment 
and  agitation  and  wild  desire  to  es- 
cape to  England. 

Ashmead  made  head  against  these 
witli  his  simple  arts.  For  one  thing, 
lie  showed  her  a  dozen  paragraphs  in 
MS.  he  was  sending  to  as  many  En- 
glish weekly  papers,  describing  her 
lieavy  gains  at  the  table.  "With 
these  stones,"  said  he,  "I  kill  two 
birds :  extend  your  fame,  and  entice 
your  idol  back  to  you."  Here  a 
growl,  which  I  suspect  was  an  inar- 
ticulate curse.     Joseph,  fie ! 

The  pen  of  Joseph  on  such  occa- 
sions was  like  his  predecessor's  coat, 
polychromatic.  Tiie  Klosking  read 
him,  and  wondered.  "Alas!"  said 
siie,  "  with  what  versatile  skill  do  you 
descant  on  a  single  circumstance  not 
very  creditable." 

"  Creditable !"  said  Ashmead  ;  "  it 
was  very  naughty,  but  it  is  very  nice." 
And  the  creature  actually  winked,  for- 
getting, of  course,  whom  he  was  wink- 
ing at,  and  wasting  his  vulgarity  on 
the  desert  air  ;  for  the  Klosking's  eye 
might  just  manage  to  blink  —  at  the 
meridian  sun,  or  so  forth  ;  but  it  nev- 
er winked  once  in  all  its  life. 

One  of  the  paragraphs  ran  thus, 
with  a  heading  in  small  capitals  : 

• 
"a  prima  donna  at  thk  gambling- 
tabm:. 

"  Mademoiselle  Klosking,  the  great 
contralto,  whose  success  has  been  al- 
ready recorded  in  all  the  joiu'inds, 
strolled,  on  one  of  her  otf  nigiits,  into 
the  Km-saal  at  Ilomburg,  and  sat 
down  to  trente  et  qmirante.  Her 
melodious  voice  was  soon  heard  bet- 
ting heavily,  with  the  most  engaging 
sweetness  of  manner ;  and  douliling 
seven  times  upon  the  red,  she  broke 
the  bank,  and  retired  with  a  charming 
courtesy  and  eight  thousand  pounds 
in  gold  and  notes." 


Another  dealt  with  the  matter  thus: 
"rocge  et  noir. 

"The  latest  coup  at  Ilomburg  has 
been  made  by  a  cantatrice  whose 
praises  all  Germany  are  now  ringing. 
Mademoiselle  Klosking,  successor  and 
rival  of  Alboni,  went  to  the  Kursaal, 
pour  passer  le  temps ;  and  siie  passed 
it  so  well  that  in  half  an  hour  the 
bank  was  broken,  and  there  was  a 
pile  of  notes  and  gold  before  La  Klos- 
king amoimting  to  ten  thousand 
poinids  and  more.  The  lady  waved 
tiiese  over  to  her  agent,  I\Ir.  Joseph 
Ashmead,  with  a  hand  which,  j)ar  pa- 
renthese,  is  believed  to  be  the  whitest 
in  Europe,  and  retired  gracefully." 

On  perusing  this,  La  Klosking  held 
ttoo  white  hands  up  to  heaven  in 
amazement  at  the  skill  and  good  taste 
which  had  dragged  this  feature  into 
the  incident. 

"a  dramatic  situation. 

"A  circumstance  has  lately  occur- 
red iiere  wliich  will  infallibly  be  seized 
on  by  the  novelists  in  search  of  an  in- 
cident. Mademoiselle  Klosking,  the 
new  contralto,  whose  triimiphant  prog- 
ress through  Europe  will  probably  be 
the  next  event  in  music,  walked  into 
the  Kmsaal  the  other  night,  broke  the 
bank,  and  walked  out  again  with  twelve 
thousand  pounds,  and  that  charming 
composure  which  is  said  to  distinguisli 
her  in  jnivate  life. 

"What  makes  it  more  remarkable 
is  that  the  lady  is  not  a  gamester,  has 
never  played  before,  and  is  saiil  to 
have  declared  that  she  shall  never 
j)lay  again.  It  is  certain  that,  with 
such  a  face,  figure,  and  voice  as  hers, 
she  need  never  seek  for  wealth  at  the 
gambling-table.  Mademoiselle  Klos- 
king is  now  in  negotiation  with  all  tlie 
principal  cities  of  tite  Continent.  IJiit 
the  English  managers,  we  apprehend, 
will  prove  awkward  competitors." 

Were  I  to  reproduce  the  nine  oth- 
er i)aragrai>iis,  it  woidd  be  a  very  cii- 


148 


A  WOMAN-HATEU. 


lions,  instructive,  and  tedious  speci- 
men of  literature ;  and,  who  knows  ? 
I  might  corrupt  some  immacuUite 
soul,  inspire  some  actor  or  actress, 
singer  or  songstress,  witli  an  itch  for 
public  self- laudation,  a  fuible  from 
which  they  aie  all  at  present  so  free. 
Witness  the  Era,  the  Hornet,  and 
Fif/aro. 

Ina  Klosking  sjiotted  what  she  con- 
ceived to  be  a  defect  in  these  histories. 
"My  friend,"  said  siic,  meekly,  "the 
sum  I  won  was  under  five  tliousand 
pounds." 

"Was  it?  Yes,  to  he  sure.  But, 
you  see,  these  are  English  advertise- 
ments. Now  England  is  so  rich  that 
if  you  keep  down  to  any  Continental 
sum,  you  give  a  false  impression  in 
England  of  the  importance  on  the 
spot. " 

"And  so  we  are  to  falsify  figures? 
In  the  first  of  these  legends  it  was 
double  the  truth ;  and,  as  I  read,  it 
enlarges — oh,  but  it  enlarges,"  said 
Ina,  with  a  Gallicism  we  shall  have 
to  forgive  in  a  lady  who  spoke  five 
languages. 

"Madam,"  said  Ashmead,  dryly, 
"you  must  expect  your  capital  to  in- 
crease rapidly,  so  long  as  I  conduct 
it." 

Not  being  herself  swift  to  shed 
jokes,  Ina  did  not  take  them  rapidly. 
She  stared  at  him.  lie  never  moved 
a  muscle.  She  gave  a  slight  shrug 
of  her  grand  shoulders,  and  resigned 
that  attempt  to  reason  with  the  creat- 
ure. 

iShe  had  a  pill  in  store  for  him, 
though.  She  told  him  that,  as  she 
had  sacrificed  the  longings  of  her 
heart  to  the  poor  of  the  theatre,  so 
she  should  sacrifice  a  portion  of  her 
ill-gotten  gains  to  the  poor  of  the 
town. 

lie  made  a  hideously  wry  face  at 
that,  asked  what  poor-rates  were  for, 
and  assured  her  that  "i)auper"  meant 
"drunkard." 

"  Jt  is  not  written  so  in  Scripture," 
said  Ina;  "and  I  need  their  prayers, 
for  I  am  very  unhappy." 


In  short,  Ashmead  was  driven  out 
from  the  presence-chamber  with  a 
thousand  thalers  to  distribute  among 
the  poor  of  Homburg;  and,  once  in 
the  street,  his  face  did  not  shine  like 
an  angel  of  mercy's,  but  was  very 
pinched  and  morose ;  hardly  recog- 
nizable— j)oor  Joe ! 

By-and-by  he  scratched  his  head. 
Now  it  is  unaccountable,  but  certain 
heads  often  yield  an  idea  in  return 
for  that.  Josejjli's  did,  and  his  conn- 
tenance  brightened. 

Three  days  after  this  Ina  was  sin- 
prised  by  a  note  from  the  Bin-gomas- 
ter,  saying  that  he  and  certain  of  the 
town  council  would  have  the  honor 
of  calling  on  her  at  noon. 

AVhat  might  this  mean  ? 

She  sent  to  ask  for  Mr.  Ashmead ; 
he  was  not  to  be  found ;  he  had  hid- 
den himself  too  carefully. 

The  deputation  came  and  thanked 
her  for  her  munificent  act  of  charity. 

She  looked  puzzled  at  first,  then 
blushed  to  the  temples.  "iSIunifi- 
cent  act,  gentlemen!  Alas!  I  did 
but  direct  my  agent  to  distribute  a 
small  sum  among  the  deserving  poor. 
He  has  done  very  ill  to  court  yoin* 
attention.  My  little  contribution 
should  have  been  as  private  as  it  is 
insignificant." 

"Nay,  madam,"  said  the  clerk  of 
the  council,  who  was  a  recognized 
orator,  "your  agent  did  well  to  con- 
sult our  worthy.  Burgomaster,  who 
knows  the  persons  most  in  need  and 
most  deserving.  We  do  not  doubt 
that  yon  love  to  do  good  in  secret. 
Nevertheless,  we  have  also  our  sense 
of  duty,  and  we  think  it  right  that  so 
benevolent  an  act  should  be  publish- 
ed, as  an  example  to  others.  In  the 
same  view,  we  claim  to  comment 
publicly  on  your  goodness."  Then 
he  looked  to  the  Bingomaster,  who 
took  him  np. 

"And  we  comment  thus  :  Madam, 
since  the  Middle  Ages  the  freedom 
of  this  town  has  not  been  possessed 
by  any  female.  There  is,  however, 
no  law  forbidding  it,  and  therefore, 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


149 


madam,  the  civic  authorities,  whom 
I  represent,  do  hereby  present  to  you 
the  freedom  of  this  burgh." 

He  then  handed  her  an  embhizoned 
vellum  giving  her  citizenship,  with 
the  reasons  written  plainly  in  golden 
letters. 

I'la  Klosking,  who  had  remained 
(piite  quiet  during  the  speeches,  wait- 
ed a  moment  or  two,  and  tlien  re- 
l)lied,  with  seemly  grace  and  dignity  : 

"  Mr.  Burgomaster  and  gentlemen, 
you  have  paid  me  a  great  and  unex- 
pected compliment,  and  I  thank  you 
for  it.  But  one  thing  makes  me  un- 
easy :  it  is  that  I  have  done  so  little 
to  deserve  this.  I  console  myself, 
however,  by  reflecting  that  I  am  still 
young,  and  may  have  oi)i)ortunities  to 
bhow  myself  grateful,  and  even  to  de- 
serve, in  the  future,  this  honor,  which 
at  present  overpays  me,  and  almost 
oppresses  me.  On  that  understand- 
ing, gentlemen,  be  pleased  to  bestow, 
and  let  me  receive,  the  rare  compli- 
ment you  have  paid  me  by  admitting 
me  to  citizenship  in  your  deliglitful 
town."  (To  herself:)  "I'll  scold  him 
well  for  tiiis." 

Low  courtesy ;  profound  bows ; 
exit  deputation  enchanted  with  her; 
manet  Klosking  with  the  freedom  of 
the  city  in  her  liand  and  ingratitude 
in  her  heart ;  for  her  one  idea  was  to 
get  hold  of  Mr.  Josejih  Ashmead  di- 
rectly, and  reproach  him  severely  for 
all  this,  which  she  justly  ascribed  to 
Ills  machinations. 

The  cunning  Ashmead  divined  her 
project,  and  kept  jjersistently  out  of 
her  way.  That  did  not  suit  her  nei- 
ther. She  was  lonely.  She  gave  the 
waiter  a  friendly  line  to  bring  him  to 
her.  Now,  mind  you,  she  was  too 
honest  to  pretend  she  was  not  going 
to  scold  him.  So  this  is  what  she 
wrote : 

"  My  Fuiend, — Have  you  desert- 
ed me?  Come  to  me,  and  be  remon- 
strated. What  have  you  to  fear? 
You  know  so  well  how  to  defend 
yourself.  Ina  Klosking." 


Arrived  in  a  very  few  minutes  Mr. 
Ashmead,  jaunty,  cheerful,  and  de- 
fensive. 

Ina,  with  a  countenance  from  which 
all  discontent  was  artfully  extracted, 
laid  before  him,  in  the  friendliest  way 
you  can  imagine,  an  English  Bii)le. 
It  was  her  father's,  and  she  always 
carried  it  with  her.  "I  wish,"  said 
she,  insidiously,  "  to  consult  you  on 
a  passage  or  two  of  this  book.  How 
do  you  understand  this : 

'"'  'When  thou  doest  thine  alms,  do 
not  send  a  trumpet  before  thee,  as  the 
hypocrites  do.' 

"And  this: 

"'When  thou  doest  thine  alms, 
let  not  tiiy  right  hand  know  what  thy 
left  hand  doeth,  that  thine  alms  may 
be  in  secret ;  and  thy  Father,  which 
seeth  in  secret,  shall  reward  thee 
openly.' " 

Having  pointed  out  these  sentences 
with  her  ringer,  she  looked  to  him  for 
his  interpretation.  Joseph,  thus  erect- 
ed into  a  Scripture  commentator,  look- 
ed at  the  i)assages  first  near,  and  then 
afar  off,  as  if  the  true  interpretation 
depended  on  perspective.  Having 
thus  gained  a  little  time,  he  said, 
"Well,  I  think  the  meaning  is  clear 
enough.  We  are  to  hide  our  own 
light  under  a  bushel.  But  it  don't 
say  an  agent  is  to  hide  his  employ- 
er's." 

"  Be  serious,  sir.  This  is  a  great 
authority." 

"Oh,  of  course,  of  course.  Still 
— if  you  won't  be  offended,  ma'am — 
times  are  changed  since  then.  It 
was  a  very  small  jilace,  where  news 
spread  of  itself;  and  all  that  can  not 
be  written  for  theatrical  agents,  be- 
cause there  wasn't  one  in  creation." 

"And  so  now  their  little  customs, 
lately  invented,  like  themselves,  are 
to  jirevail  against  God's  im-mor-tal 
law!"  It  was  something  half-way 
between  Handel  and  mellowed  thun- 
der the  way  her  grand  contralto  sud- 
denly rolled  out  these  three  words. 
Joseph  was  cunning.  He  put  on 
a   crushed   appearance,   deceived  by 


150 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


which  tlic  firm  but  gentle  Klosking 
began  to  soften  her  tone  directly. 

"  It  has  given  me  jjuin,"  said  she, 
sorrowfully.  "And  I  am  afraid  God 
will  be  angry  with  us  both  for  our 
ostentation." 

"  Not  He,"  said  Joseph,  consoling- 
ly. "Bless  your  heart.  He  is  not 
half  so  irritable  as  the  parsons  fancy ; 
they  confound  Him  witii  themselves." 

Ina  ignored  this  suggestion  with 
perfect  dignity,  and  flowed  on  :  "All 
I  stipulate  now  is  that  I  may  not  see 
this  pitiable  parade  in  print." 

"That  is  jiast  praying  for,  then," 
said  Ashmead,  resolutely.  "  You 
might  as  well  try  to  stop  the  waves  as 
check  publicity  —  in  our  day.  Your 
munificence  to  the  poor  —  confound 
the  lazy  lot!  —  and  tiie  gratitude  of 
those  pompous  prigs,  tlie  dejjutation 
—  the  presentation  —  your  admirable 
reply — " 

"  You  never  heard  it,  now — " 

"  Whicii,  as  you  say,  I  was  not  so  for- 
tunate as  to  hear,  and  so  must  content 
myself  with  describing  it — all  tiiis  is 
flying  north,  south,  east,  and  west." 

"Oh  no,  no,  nol  You  have  not 
advertised  it  ?" 

"  Not  advertised  it !  For  what  do 
you  take  me  ?  Wait  till  you  see  the 
bill  I  am  running  ujj  against  you. 
Madam,  you  must  take  peoi)]e  as 
they  are.  Don't  try  to  un- Ashmead 
7ne  ;  it  is  im[U)ssii)le.  Catch  up  that 
knife  and  kill  me.  I'll  not  resist ;  on 
the  contrary,  I'll  sit  down  and  prepare 
an  obituary  notice  for  the  weeklies, 
and   say  I   did  it.      Bnr  while   I 

BKKATHE    I    ADVKUTISK." 

And  Joseph  was  defiant ;  and  the 
Klosking  shruggeil  her  noble  shoul- 
ders, and  said,  "You  iiest  of  creat- 
ures, you  are  incurable." 

To  follow  this  incident  to  its  con- 
clusion, not  a  week  after  this  scene, 
Ina  Klosking  detected,  in  an  English 
paiicr, 

"a  charitable  act. 

"  Mademoiselle  Klosking,  the  great 
contralto,  having  won  a  large  sum  of 


money  at  the  Kursaal,  has  given  a 
thousand  pounds  to  the  poor  of  tiie 
place.  The  civic  authorities  hearing 
of  this,  and  desirous  to  mark  tlieir 
sense  of  so  noble  a  donation,  have 
jn'esented  her  with  the  freedom  of  the 
burgh,  written  on  vellum  and  gold. 
Mademoiselle  Klosking  received  tiie 
compliment  with  charming  grace  and 
courtesy ;  but  her  modesty  is  said  to 
have  been  much  distressed  at  the  pub- 
licity hereby  given  to  an  act  she  wished 
to  be  known  only  to  the  persons  re- 
lieved by  her  charity." 

Ina  caught  the  culprit,  and  showed 
him  this.  "A  thousand  pounds!" 
said  she.  "Are  you  not  ashamed? 
Was  ever  a  niggardly  act  so  embel- 
lished and  exaggerated?  I  feel  my 
face  very  red,  sir." 

"Oil,  I'll  explain  that  in  a  mo- 
ment," said  Joseph,  amicably.  "  Each 
nation  has  a  coin  it  is  always  quoting. 
France  counts  in  francs,  Germany  in 
tlialers,  America  in  dolLars,  England 
in  pounds.  When  a  thing  costs  a 
million  francs  in  France,  or  a  million 
dollars  in  the  States,  that  is  always 
called  a  million  pounds  in  tiie  Englisli 
journals :  otherwise  it  would  convey 
no  distinct  idea  at  all  to  an  Englisli- 
man.  Turning  tlialers  and  francs  into 
pounds — that  is  not  exaggeration;  it 
is  only  tranx/ation.'" 

Ina  gave  iiim  such  a  look.  He  re- 
plied with  an  unabashed  smile. 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders  in  si- 
lence this  time,  and,  to  tiie  best  of 
my  belief,  made  no  more  serious  at- 
tempts to  un- Ashmead  her  Ashmead. 

A  month  had  now  passed,  and  that 
was  a  little  more  than  half  the  dreary 
time  slie  had  to  wade  through.  She 
began  to  count  the  days,  and  that 
made  her  ))ine  all  the  more.  Time 
is  like  a  kettle.  Be  blind  to  him, 
he  flies ;  watch  him,  he  lags.  Her 
sweet  temper  was  a  little  affected, 
and  she  even  reproached  Ashmead 
for  holding  her  out  false  hopes  that 
his  advertisements  of  her  gains  would 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


151 


induce  Severne  to  come  to  her,  el- 
even write.  "No,"  said  she;  "there 
must  be  some  greater  attraction.  Karl 
says  that  Miss  "Vizard,  who  called 
npon  me,  was  a  beauty,  and  dark. 
Perhaps  she  was  the  lovely  girl  I  saw 
at  the  opera.  She  has  never  been 
there  since :  and  he  is  gone  to  En- 
gland with  people  of  that  name." 

"  Well,  but  that  iSIiss  Vizard  called 
on  you.  She  cau't  intend  to  steal  him 
from  you." 

"But  she  may  not  know;  a  wom- 
an may  injure  another  without  in- 
tending, lie  may  deceive  her;  he 
has  betrayed  me.  Her  extraordinary 
beauty  terrifies  me.  It  enchanted 
me ;  and  how  mucii  more  a  man  ?" 

Joseph  said  he  thought  this  was  all 
fancy;  and  as  for  his  advertisements, 
it  was  too  early  yet  to  pronounce  on 
their  effect. 

The  very  day  after  tliis  conversa- 
tion lie  bounced  into  her  room  in 
great  dudgeon.  "There,  madam! 
the  advertisements  have  produced  an 
effect ;  and  not  a  jileasant  one.  Here's 
a  detective  on  to  us.  He  is  feeling  his 
way  with  Karl.  I  knew  the  man  in 
a  moment ;  calls  himself  Poikilus  in 
print,  and  Smith  to  talk  to ;  but  he  is 
Aaron  at  the  bottom  of  it  all,  and 
can  speak  several  languages.  Con- 
found their  impudence!  jiutting  a  de- 
tective on  to  w.<f,  when  it  is  they  that 
are  keeping  dark." 

"  Who  do  you  think  has  sent  him  ?'' 
asked  Ina,  intently. 

"The  party  interested,  I  suppose." 
"  Interested  in  what?" 
"  Why,  in  the  inoney  you  won : 
for  lie  was  drawing  Karl  about  that." 
"Then  he  sent  the  man!"  And 
Ina  began  to  pant  and  change  color. 

"  Well,  now  you  put  it  to  me,  I 
think  so.  Come  to  look  at  it,  it  is 
certain.  Wiio  else  couW  it  be?  Here 
is  a  brace  of  sweeps.  They  wouldn't 
be  the  worse  for  a  good  kicking.  You 
say  the  word,  and  Smith  shall  have 
one,  at  all  events." 

"Alas!  my  friend,"  said  Ina,  "for 
once  vou  are  slow.     What !  a  messen- 


ger comes  here  direct  from  him ;  and 
are  we  so  dull  wo  can  learn  nothing 
from  liim  who  comes  to  question  us? 
Let  me  think." 

She  leaned  her  forehead  on  her 
white  hand,  and  her  face  seemed  slow- 
ly to  fill  with  intellectual  power. 

"That  man,"  said  she  at  last,  "is 
tlie  only  link  between  him  and  me. 
I  must  speak  to  him." 
Then  she  thought  again. 
"  No,  not  yet.  He  must  be  detain- 
ed in  tlie  house.  Letters  may  come 
to  him,  and  their  postmarks  may  give 
us  some  clue." 

"I'll  recommend  the  house  to  him." 
"Oh,  tliat  is   not   necessary.     He 
will  lodge  here  of  his   own   accord. 
Does  he  know  you  ?" 
"I  think  not." 

"Do  not  give  him  the  least  suspi- 
cion that  you  know  he  is  a  detective." 
"All  right,  I  won't." 
"If  he  sounds  you  about  the  mon- 
ey, say  nobody  knows  much  about  it, 
except  Mademoiselle  Klosking.  If 
you  can  get  the  matter  so  far,  come 
and  tell  me.  But  be  you  very  re- 
served, for  you  are  not  clear." 

Ashmead  received  these  instructions 
meekly,  and  went  into  the  salle  a  man- 
ger and  ordered  dinner.  Smith  was 
there,  and  had  evidently  got  some  in- 
formation from  Karl,  for  he  o])ened 
an  easy  conversation  with  Ashmead, 
and  it  eniled  in  their  dining  together. 
Sniitli  ])layed  the  oi)en-handed  coun- 
tryman to  the  life — stood  Champagne. 
Ashmead  chattered,  and  seemed  quite 
off  his  guard.  Smith  appioaclied  the 
subject  cautiously.  "  Gamble  here 
as  much  as  ever?" 

"  All  dav,  some  of  them." 
"Ladies  and  all?" 
"  Why,  the  ladies  are  the  worst." 
"No ;  are  they  now  ?     Ah,  that  re- 
minds me.     I  heard  there  was  a  lady 
in  this  very  house  won  a  jmt  o'  money.'' 
"It  is  true.     I  am  her  agent." 
"  I   suppose   she  lost  it   all  next 
day  ?" 

"  Well,  not  all,  for  she  gave  a  thou- 
sand pounds  to  the  poor." 


152 


A  WOMAN-IIATEK. 


"The  dicss- makers  collared  the 
rest?" 

"I  can  not  say.  1  liave  notliing 
to  do  except  with  her  theatrical  busi- 
ness. She  will  make  more  by  that 
than  she  ever  made  at  play.'' 

"  What,  is  she  tii)-toiJ?'' 

"The  most  rising  singer  in  En- 
rope." 

"I  shonld  like  to  see  her." 

"That  you  can  easily  do.  She 
sings  to-night.     I'll  jjass  you  in." 

"  You  are  a  good  fellow.  Have  a 
bit  of  supper  with  me  afterward.  Bot- 
tle of  fizz." 

Tliese  two  might  be  compared  to  a 
couple  of  s]>iders,  eacii  taking  the  other 
for  a  fly.  iSmith  was  enchanted  wiih 
Ina's  singing,  or  ])retended.  Ashmead 
was  delightetl  with  him,  or  pretended. 

"  Introduce  me  to  her,"  said  Smith. 

"I  dare  not  do  that.  You  are  not 
professional,  are  you  ?'' 

"No,  but  vou  can  say  I  am,  for  a 
lark." 

Ashmead  said  he  shonld  like  to; 
but  it  would  not  do,  unless  he  was 
very  warv. 

"Oh,  I'm  fly,"  said  the  other.  "She 
won't  get  any  thing  out  of  me.  I've 
been  behind  the  scenes  often  enough." 

Tiien  Ashmead  said  lie  would  go 
and  ask  her  if  he  might  present  a  Lon- 
don manager  to  her.  He  soon  brought 
back  the  answer.  "She  is  too  tired 
to-night :  but  I  pressed  her,  and  she 
says  she  will  be  cliarmed  if  you  will 
breakfast  witii  her  to-morrow  at  elev- 
en." He  did  not  say  that  he  was  to 
be  with  her  at  half-i>ast  ten  for  special 
instructions.  They  were  very  simjile. 
"My  friend,"  said  she,  "I  mean  to 
fell  this  man  something  which  he  w  ill 
think  it  his  duty  to  telcgra])!!  or  write 
to  him  immediately.  It  was  for  this 
I  woidd  not  have  the  man  to  supper, 
being  after  post-time.  This  morning 
he  shall  either  write  or  telegra])h,  and 
tlicn,  if  you  are  as  clever  in  this  as  you 
are  in  some  things,  you  will  watch  him, 
ami  find  out  the  adtiress  he  sends  to." 

Ashmead  listened  very  attentively, 
and  fell  into  a  brown  study. 


"Madam,"  said  he  at  last,  "  this  is 
a  first-rate  combination.  You  make 
him  comnumicate  with  England,  and 
I  will  do  the  rest.  If  he  tclegraj)hs, 
I'll  be  at  his  heels.  If  he  goes  to  tlie 
post,  I  know  a  way.  If  he  i)0sts  in 
the  house,  he  makes  it  too  easy." 

At  eleven  Ashmead  introduced  his 
friend  "Sharjjus,  manager  of  Drury 
Lane  Tlicatre,"and  watched  the  fen- 
cing match  with  some  anxiet\-,  Ina 
being  little  versed  in  guile.  But  she 
had  tact  and  self-possession  ;  and  she 
was  not  an  angel,  after  all,  but  a  wom- 
an wiiose  wits  were  sharpened  by  love 
and  suffeiing. 

Shar]nis,  alias  Smith,  played  his  as- 
sumed character  to  perfection.  He 
gave  the  Klosking  many  incidents  of 
business  and  jjrofessional  anecdotes, 
and  was  excellent  company.  Tlie 
Klosking  was  gracious,  and  more 
bonne  enfant  than  Ashmead  had  ever 
seen  her.  It  was  a  fine  match  be- 
tween her  and  the  detective.  At  last 
he  made  his  ajjproaches. 

"And  I  hear  we  are  to  congratulate 
you  on  success  at  rouge  et  noir  as  well 
as  opera.  Is  it  true  that  you  broke 
the  bank  ?" 

"rerfectly,"  was  tlie  frank  reply. 

"And  won  a  million  ?" 

"More  or  less," said  the  Klosking, 
with  an  open  smile. 

"I  hope  it  was  a  good  lump,  for 
our  coimtrymen  leave  hundreds  of 
thousands  here  every  season." 

"  It  was  four  thousand  nine  hun- 
dred pounds,  sir." 

"  I'hew  !  Well,  I  wish  it  had  been 
doidile.  You  are  not  so  close  as  our 
friend  here,  madam." 

"No,  sir;  and  shall  I  tell  vou 
why  ? " 

"If you  like,  madam,"  said  Smith, 
with  assumed  indiU'crencc. 

"Mr.  Ashmead  is  a  model  agent; 
he  never  allows  himself  to  see  atiy 
body's  interests  but  mine.  Now  the 
truth  is,  nnotlier  jieison  has  an  inter- 
est in  my  famous  winnings.  A  gen- 
tleman handed  £2r>  to  Mr.  Ashmead 
to  play  with.     He  did  not  do  so;  but 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


153 


I  came  in  and  joined  £25  of  my  own 
to  that  £25,  and  won  an  enormous 
sum.  Of  course,  if  the  gentleman 
cliooses  to  be  chivahous  and  abandon 
his  claim,  he  can ;  hut  that  is  not  the 
way  of  the  world,  you  know.  I  feel 
sure  he  will  come  to  me  for  his  share 
some  day ;  and  the  sooner  the  better, 
for  money  burns  the  pocket." 

Sharpus,  alias  Smith,  said  this  was 
really  a  curious  story.  ''Now  sup- 
pose," said  he,  "some  fine  day  a  let- 
ter was  to  come  asking  you  to  remit 
that  gentleman  his  half,  what  should 
you  do?' 

"I  should  decline;  it  might  be 
an  escroc.  No.  Mr.  Ashmead  here 
knows  the  gentleman.     Do  you  not?" 

"Ill  swear  to  him  anywhere." 

"Then  to  receive  his  money  he 
must  face  the  eye  of  Ashmead.  lla ! 
ha!" 

The  detective  turned  the  conversa- 
tion, and  never  came  back  to  the  sub- 
ject ;  but  shortly  he  pleaded  an  en- 
gagement, and  took  his  leave. 

Ashmead  lingered  behind,  but  Ina 
hurried  him  otf,  with  an  emphatic 
command  not  to  leave  this  man  out 
of  his  siglit  a  moment. 

lie  violated  tiiis  order,  for  in  five 
minutes  he  ran  back  to  tell  her,  in  an 
agitated  whisper,  that  Smith  was  at 
that  moment  writing  a  letter  in  the 
sallc-  h  inamier. 

"Oh,  pray  don't  come  here!"  cried 
Ina,  in  desi)air.  "Do  not  lose  sight 
of  him  for  a  moment." 

"  Give  me  tliat  letter  to  post,  then," 
said  Ashmead,  and  snatched  one  uj) 
Ina  had  directed  overnight. 

He  went  to  the  hotel  door,  and 
lighted  a  cigiir  ;  out  came  Smith  witli 
a  letter  in  his  very  hand.  Ashmead 
peered  with  all  his  eyes ;  but  Smith 
held  the  letter  vertically  in  his  hand 
and  the  address  inward.  The  letter 
was  sealed. 

Ashmead  watched  him,  and  saw  he 
was  going  to  the  General  Post.  He 
knew«n  siiorter  cut,  ran,  and  took  it, 
and  lay  in  wait.  As  Smith  approached 
the  box,  letter  in  hand,  he  bustled  up 


in  a  furious  huriy,  and  posted  his  own 
letter  so  as  to  stop  Smith's  hand  at 
the  very  aperture  before  he  could  in- 
sert his  letter.  He  saw,  apologized, 
and  drew  back.  Smith  laughed,  and 
said,  "All  right,  old  man.  That  is 
to  your  sweetheart,  or  you  wouldn't 
be  in  such  a  hurry." 

"  No ;  it  was  to  my  grandmother," 
said  Ashmead. 

"Go  on,"  said  Smith,  and  poked 
the  ribs  of  Joseph.  They  went  home 
jocular;  but  the  detective  was  no 
sooner  out  of  the  way  than  Ashmead 
stole  up  to  Ina  Klosking,  and  put  his 
finger  to  his  lips  ;  for  Karl  was  clear- 
ing away,  and  in  no  hurry. 

They"  sat  on  tenter  -  hooks  and 
thought  he  never  would  go.  He  did 
go  at  last,  and  then  the  Klosking  and 
Ashmead  came  together  like  two  mag- 
nets. 

"  Well  ?" 

"All  right!  Letter  to  post.  Saw 
address  quite  plain — Edward  Severne, 
Esq." 

"Yes." 

"Vizard  Court." 

"Ah!" 

"  Tatldington  — Barfordshire — En- 
gland." 

Ina,  who  was  standing  all  on  fire, 
now  sat  down  and  interlaced  her 
hands.  "Vizard!"  said  she,  gloom- 
ily. 

"Yes;  Vizard  Court,"  said  Ashmead, 
triumphantly;  "that  means  he  is  a  large 
landed  ))r()prietor,  and  you  will  easily 
find  him  if  lie  is  there  in  a  month." 

"He  will  be  there," said  Ina.  "She 
is  very  beautiful.  She  is  dark,  too, 
and  lie  loves  change.  Oh,  if  to  all  I 
have  suH'ered  he  adils  that — " 

"Then  you  will  forgive  him  that" 
said  Ashmead,  shaking  his  head. 

"  Never.  Look  at  me,  Joseph  Ash- 
mead." 

He  looked  at  her  with  some  awe, 
for  she  seemed  transformed,  and  lier 
Danish  eye  gleanied  strangely. 

"You  who  liave  seen  my  torments 
and  my  fidelity,  mark  what  I  say:  If 
he  is  false  to  me  with  another  woman, 


15i 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


I  shall  kill  him — or  else  I  slialJ  hate 
him." 

She  took  her  desk   and  wrote,  at 
Ashmead's  dictation, 

"Vizard  Court, 
Taddington, 

Barfordshire. " 


CHAPTER  XrX. 

The  next  morning  Vizard  carried 
Lord  Uxnioor  away  to  a  magistrates' 
meeting,  and  left  the  road  clear  to 
yevenie ;  but  Zoe  gave  him  no  op- 
portunity until  just  before  luncheon, 
and  tlien  she  put  on  her  bonnet  and 
came  down  -  stairs ;  but  i'anny  was 
with  her. 

Severne,  who  was  seated  patiently 
in  his  bedroom  with  the  door  ajar, 
came  out  to  join  tliem,  feeling  sure 
Fanny  would  openly  side  with  him, 
or  slip  away  and  give  him  his  oppor- 
tunity. 

But,  as  the  young  ladies  stood  on 
the  broad  flight  of  steps  at  the  hall 
door,  an  antique  figure  drew  nigh — 
an  old  lady,  the  shape  of  an  egg,  so 
short  and  stout  was  she.  On  her  head 
she  wore  a  black  silk  bonnet  construct- 
ed many  years  ago,  with  a  droll  de- 
sign, viz.,  to  keep  off  sun,  rain,  and 
wind  ;  it  was  like  an  iron  coal-scuttle, 
sliglitly  shortened ;  yet  have  I  seen 
some  very  j)retty  faces  very  prettily 
framed  in  snch  a  bonnet.  She  had  an 
old  black  silk  gown  that  only  reached 
to  her  ankle,  and  over  it  a  scarlet 
cloak  of  superfine  cloth,  fine  as  any 
colonel  or  queen's  outrider  ever  wore, 
and  looking  splendid,  though  she  had 
used  it  forty  years,  at  odd  times.  This 
dame  had  escaped  the  village  ill,  rheu- 
matics, and  could  toddle  along  with- 
out a  statf  at  a  great,  and  indeed  a 
fearful,  pace ;  for,  owing  to  her  build, 
she  yawed  so  from  side  to  side  at  ev- 
ery step  that,  to  them  who  knew  her 
not,  a  capsize  appeared  inevitable. 
"Mrs.  Judge,  I  declare," cried  Zoe. 


"Ay,  miss,  Hannah  Judge  it  is. 
Your  sarvant,  ma'am  ;"  and  she  drop- 
ped two  courtesies,  one  for  each  lady. 

Mrs.  .Judge  was  Harrington's  old 
nurse.  Zoe  often  paid  a  visit  to  her 
cottage,  but  she  never  came  to  Vizard 
C'ourt  e.\cei)t  on  Harrington's  birth- 
day, when  the  servants  entertained 
all  the  old  pensioners  and  retainers 
at  supper.  Her  sudden  appearance, 
therefore,  and  in  gala  costume,  aston- 
ished Zoe.  Probably  her  face  betray- 
ed this,  for  the  old  lady  began,  "You 
wonder  to  .see  me  here,  now,  doan't 
ye?" 

"  \Vell,  Mrs.  Judge,"  said  Zoe,  diji- 
lomatically,  "nobody  has  a  better 
right  to  come." 

"  You  be  very  good,  miss.  I  don't 
doubt  mv  welcome  nohow. " 

"But/'  said  Zoe,  playfully,  "you 
seldom  do  us  the  honor;  so  I  am  a 
little  surprised.  What  can  I  do  for 
you  ?" 

"You  does  enough  for  me,  miss, 
you  and  young  squire.  I  hain't  come 
to  ask  no  favois.  I  ain't  one  o'  that 
sort.  Ill  tell  ye  why  I  be  come.  'Tis 
to  warn  you  all  nj)  here." 

"This  is  alarming,"  said  Zoe  to 
Fanny. 

"That  is  as  may  be,"  said  Mrs. 
Judge  ;  "  forewarned,  fore-armed,  the 
by -word  sayeth.  There  is  a  young 
'oman  a-jMowling  about  this  here  par- 
ish as  don't  belong  to  hus." 

^^Ln,"  said  Fanny,  "mustn't  we 
visit  your  parish  if  we  were  not  born 
there'?" 

"Don't  you  take  me  up  before  I 
be  down,  miss,"  said  the  old  nurse,  a 
little  severely.  "  'Tain't  for  the  likes 
of  you  I  speak,  which  you  are  a  lady, 
and  visits  the  Court  by  permission  of 
squire  ;  but  what  I  objects  to  is — hin- 
terlopers."  She  paused  to  see  the  ef- 
fect of  so  big  a  word,  and  then  re- 
sumed, graciously,  "  You  see,  most  of 
our  hills  comes  from  that  there  Hill- 
stoke.  If  there's  a  poacher,  or  a  thief, 
he  is  Ilillstoke.  •  They  harbors  the 
gypsies  as  ravages  the  whole  country, 
mostly ;  and  now  they  have  let  loose 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


155 


tills  here  young  'oman  on  to  us.  She 
is  a  Poll  Pry  :  goes  about  the  town 
a-savching:  pries  into  tiieir  lioiisen 
and  their  vittels,  and  their  very  beds. 
Old  Marks  have  got  a  muck-heap  at 
liis  door;  for  his  garden,  ye  know. 
Well,  miss,  she  sticks  lier  parasole 
into  this  here,  and  turns  it  about,  as 
if  siie  was  agoing  to  spread  it:  says 
she,  'I  must  know  the  de-com-po-si- 
tion  of  tliis  'ere,  as  you  keeps  under 
the  noses  of  your  young  folk.'  Vv'eli, 
I  seed  her  agoing  her  rounds,  and 
the  folk  had  told  me  her  ways;  so  I 
did  set  me  down  to  my  knitting  and 
wait  for  her,  and  when  slie  came  to 
me  I  offered  her  a  seat;  so  she  sat 
down,  and  says  she,  '  This  is  the  one 
clean  house  in  the  village,'  says  she: 
'you  might  eat  your  dinner  off  the 
floor,  let  alone  the  chairs  and  tables.' 
'  You  are  very  good,  miss,'  says  I. 
Says  she,  '  I  wonder  whether  up-stairs 
is  as  nice  as  this?'  'Well,' says  I, 
'  them  as  keep  it  down-stairs  keeps  it 
hup ;  I  don't  drop  cleanliness  on  the 
stairs,  you  may  be  sure.'  'I  suppose 
not,' says  she,  'but  I  should  like  to 
see.'  That  was  what  I  was  a-waiiing 
for,  you  know,  so  I  said  to  her,  '  Cu- 
riosity do  breed  curiosity,'  says  I. 
'  Afore  you  sarches  this  here  house 
from  top  to  bottom,  I  should  like  to 
see  the  warrant.'  'What  warrant?' 
says  she.  '  I've  no  warrant.  Don't 
take  me  for  an  enemy,'  says  she. 
'  I'm  your  best  friend,'  says  she.  'I'm 
the  new  doctor.'  I  told  her  I  had 
heard  a  whisper  of  that  too;  but  we 
had  got  a  parish  doctor  already,  and 
one  was  enough.  'Not  when  he  nev- 
er comes  anigh  you,'  says  she,  'and 
lets  you  go  half-way  to  meet  your  dis- 
eases.' 'I  don't  know  for  that,'  says 
I,  and  indeed  I  haan't  a  notion  what 
she  meant,  for  my  part ;  but  says  I, 
'  I  don't  want  no  women  folk  to  come 
here  a-doctoring  o'  me,  that's  sartain.' 
So  she  said,  '  But  suppose  you  were 
very  ill,  and  the  he-doctor  three  miles 
off,  and  fifty  otheis  to  visit  afore  you  ?' 
'That  is  no  odds,'  says  I;  'I  would 
not  be  doctored  bv  a  woman.'     Then 


slie  says  to  me,  saj'S  she,  'Now  you 
look  me  in  the  face. '  '  I  can  do  that,' 
says  I ;  '  you,  or  any  body  else.  I'm 
an  honest  woman,  /am  ;'  so  I  up  and 
looked  her  in  the  face  as  bold  as  brass. 
'  Then,'  says  she,  '  am  I  to  understand 
that,  if  you  was  to  be  ill  to-morrow, 
you  would  rather  die  than  be  doctor- 
ed by  a  woman  ?'  She  thought  to 
daant  me,  you  see,  so  I  says,  '  Well, 
I  don't  know  as  I  oodn't.'  You  do 
laugh,  miss.  Well,  that  is  what  she 
did.  'All  right,'  says  siie.  'Make 
haste  and  die,  my  good  soul,'  says  she, 
'  for,  while  you  live,  you'll  be  a  hobe- 
lisk  to  reform.'  So  she  went  off,  but 
I  made  to  tlie  door,  and  called  after 
her  I  should  die  when  God  pleased, 
and  I  had  seen  a  good  many  young 
folk  laid  out,  that  looked  as  like  to 
make  old  bones  as  ever  she  does — 
chalk-faced — skiimy — to-a-d !  And  I 
called  after  her  she  was  no  lady.  No 
more  she  ain't,  to  come  into  my  own 
house  and  call  a  decent  woman  'a 
hobelisk!'  Oh  !  oh  !  Which  I  nev- 
er ivas,  not  even  in  my  giddy  days, 
but  did  work  hard  in  my  youth,  and 
arn  respect  for  my  old  age." 

"Yes,  nurse,  yes  ;  who  doubts  it?" 
"And  nursed  young  squire,  and, 
Lord  bless  your  heart,  a  was  a  jioor 
puny  child  when  I  took  him  to  my 
breast,  and  in  six  months  the  finest, 
chubbiest  boy  in  all  the  parish ;  and 
his  dry-nurse  for  years  arter,  and  al- 
ways at  his  heels  a-keeping  him  out 
of  the  stable  and  the  ponds,  and  con- 
sorting with  the  village  boys ;  and  a 
proper  resolute  child  he  was,  and  hard 
to  manage:  and  my  own  man  that  is 
gone,  and  my  son  '  that's  not  so  clever 
as  some,'*  I  always  done  justice  by 
them  both,  and  arter  all  to  be  called 
a  hobelisk— oh  !  oh!  oh!" 

Then  behold  the  gentle  Zoe  with 
her  arm  round  nurse's  neck,  and  her 
handkerchief  to  nurse's  eyes,  mur- 
muring, '"There — there — don't  cry, 
nurse  ;    every  body  esteems  you,  and 


•Paraphrnse  for  the  uoun  eubstaiUive 
"idiot."  It  is  also  a  (^Decinieii  of  tbe 
Greek  figure  "litoteg." 


156 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


tliat  lady  (lid  not  mean  to  affront 
you;  she  did  not  say  'obelisk;'  she 
said  'obstacle.'  That  only  means 
that  you  stand  in  the  way  of  her 
improvements ;  there  was  not  much 
harm  in  that,  you  know.  And,  nurse, 
please  give  tiiat  lady  lier  way,  to 
oblige  me;  for  it  is  by  my  brother's 
invitation  she  is  here." 

"Ye  doan't  say  so!  AVhat,  does 
he  hold  with  female  she-doctoresses  ?" 

'•  lie  wishes  to  try  one.  IShe  has 
his  authority." 

"  Ye  doan't  sav  so!" 

"Indeed  I  do."" 

"Con  —  sarn  the  wench!  why 
couldn't  she  say  so,  'stead  o'  hargefv- 
ing?" 

"She  is  a  stranger,  and  means 
well;  so  she  did  not  think  it  neces- 
sary. You  must  take  my  word  for 
it." 

"La,  miss,  I'll  take  your'n  before 
hers,  you  may  be  sure,"  said  Mrs. 
Judge,  witii  a  decided  remnant  of 
hostility. 

And  now  a  jjroverbial  incident  haj)- 
pened.  Miss  Hhoda  Gale  came  in 
sight,  and  walked  rajjidly  into  tlie 
group. 

After  greeting  the  ladies,  and  ig- 
noring Severne,  who  took  o^  his  hat 
to  her,  with  deep  respect,  in  the  back- 
ground, slie  turned  to  Mrs.  Judge. 
"  Well,  old  lady,"  said  she,  cheerfully, 
"and  how  do  you  do?" 

Mrs.  Judge  replied,  in  fawning  ac- 
cents, "Thank  you,  miss,  I  be  well 
enough  to  get  about.  I  was  a-telling 
'em  about  you — and,  to  be  sure,  it  is 
uncommon  good  of  a  lady  like  you  to 
trouble  so  much  about  poor  folk." 

"  Don't  mention  it ;  it  is  my  duty 
and  my  inclination.  You  see,  my 
good  woman,  it  is  not  so  easy  to  cure 
diseases  as  people  think ;  therefore  it 
is  a  part  of  medicine  to  prevent  them  : 
and  to  prevent  them  you  must  remove 
the  predisposing  causes,  and  to  find 
out  all  those  causes  you  must  have 
eyes,  and  use  them." 

"  You  are  right,  miss,"  said  La 
Judge,  obsequiously.       "I'rcvention 


is  better  nor  cure,  and  they  say  'a 
stitch  in  time  saves  nine.'" 

"That  is  capital  good  sense,  Mrs. 
Judge ;  and  pray  tell  the  villagers 
that,  and  make  them  as  full  of  '  the 
wisdom  of  nations '  as  you  seem  to  be, 
and  their  houses  as  clean — if  you  can." 

"I'll  do  my  best,  miss,"  said  Mrs. 
Judge,  obsequiously;  "it  is  the  least 
we  can  all  <lo  for  a  young  lady  like 
you  that  leaves  the  pomi)s  and  vani- 
ties, and  gives  her  mind  to  bettering 
the  condishing  of  poor  folk." 

Having  once  taken  this  cue,  and 
entered  upon  a  vein  of  llattery,  she 
would  have  been  extremely  voluble — 
for  villages  can  vie  with  cities  in  adu- 
lation as  well  as  in  detraction  —  but 
she  was  interru])ted  by  a  footman  an- 
nouncing luncheon. 

Zoc  handed  Mrs.  Judge  over  to  the 
man,  with  a  request  that  he  would  be 
kind  to  her,  and  have  her  to  dine 
with  the  servants. 

Yellow])lush  saw  the  gentlefolks 
away,  and  then,  parting  his  legs,  and 
putting  his  thumbs  into  his  waist- 
coat-pockets, delivered  himself  thus : 
"Well,  old  girl,  am  I  to  give  you  my 
Iiarm  round  to  the  kitchen,  or  do  you 
know  the  way  by  yourself?" 

"Young  cha]),"  said  Mrs.  Judge, 
and  turned  a  glittering  eye,  "I  did 
know  the  way  afore  you  was  born, 
and  I  should  know  it  all  one  if  so  be 
you  was  to  be  hung,  or  sent  to  Botany 
i?ay — to  larn  manners." 

Having  delivered  this  shot,  she  rolled 
away  in  the  direction  of  Koast  Beef. 

The  little  party  had  hardly  settled 
at  the  table  wiieu  they  were  joined 
by  Vizard  and  Uxmoor :  both  gentle- 
men welcomed  Miss  Gale  more  heart- 
ily than  the  ladies  had  done,  and 
before  luncheon  ended  Vi/ard  asked 
her  if  her  report  was  ready.  She  said 
it  was. 

"  Have  you  got  it  with  you  ?" 

"Yes." 

"Then  please  hand  it  to  me." 

"Oh!  it  is  in  my  head.  I  don't 
write  much  down  ;  that  weakens  the 
memory.     If  you  would  give  me  half 


\ 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


157 


an  hour  after  luncheon — "     She  hesi- 
tated a  little. 

Zoe  jealoused  a  tete-h-tcte,  and  par- 
ried it  skillfully.  "Oh,"  said  she, 
"but  we  are  all  much  interested  :  are 
not  you,  Lord  Uxmoor  ?" 

"Indeed  I  am, "said  Uxmoor. 

"So  am  I," said  Fanny,  who  didn't 
care  a  button. 

"Yes,  but,"  said  Rhoda,  "truths 
are  not  always  agreeable,  and  there 
are  some  that  I  don't  like — "  She 
hesitated  again,  and  this  time  actually 
blushed  a  little. 

The  acute  Mr.  Severne,  who  had 
been  watching  her  slyly,  came  to  her 
assistance. 

"Look  here,  old  fellow," said  lie  to 
Vizard,  "  don't  you  see  tliat  Miss  Gale 
has  discovered  some  spots  in  your  par- 
adise? but,  out  of  delicacy,  does  not 
want  to  publish  them,  but  to  confide 
them  to  your  own  ear.  Then  you  can 
mend  them  or  not." 

Miss  Gale  turned  her  eyes  full  on 
Severne.  "  You  are  very  keen  at 
reading  people,  sir,"  said  she,  dryly. 

"Of  coiu'se  he  is,"  said  Vizard. 
"  He  lias  given  great  attention  to  your 
sex.  Well,  if  that  is  all,  Miss  Gale, 
pray  speak  out  and  gratify  their  curi- 
osity. You  and  I  shall  never  quarrel 
over  the  truth." 

"  I'm  not  so  sure  of  that,"said  Miss 
Gale.  "However,  I  suppose  I  must 
risk  it.  I  never  do  get  my  own  way  ; 
that's  a  fact." 

After  this  little  ebullition  of  s])leen, 
she  opened  her  budget.  "First  of 
all,  I  find  tliat  these  villages  all  belong 
to  one  person  ;  so  does  the  soil.  No- 
body can  build  cottages  on  a  better 
model,  nor  make  any  other  improve- 
ment. You  are  an  absolute  monarch. 
This  is  a  piece  of  Russia,  not  England. 
'I'hey  are  all  serfs,  and  you  are  the 
Czar." 

"It  is  true,"  said  Vizard,  "and  it 
sounds  liorrid,  but  it  works  benignly. 
I'^very  snob  who  can  grind  the  jioor 
does  grind  them ;  but  a  gentleman 
never,  and  he  hinders  others.  Now, 
for  instance,  an  English  fanner  is  gen- 


erally a  tyrant ;  but  my  power  limits 
his  tyranny.  He  may  discharge  his 
laborer,  but  he  can't  drive  him  out  of 
the  village,  nor  rob  him  of  parish  re- 
lief, for  poor  Hodge  is  my  tenant,  not 
a  snob's.  Nobody  can  build  a  beer- 
shop  in  Islip.  That  is  true.  But  if 
they  could,  they  would  sell  bad  beer, 
give  credit  in  the  ardor  of  competition, 
poison  the  villagers,  and  demoralize 
them.  Believe  me,  republican  insti- 
tutions are  beautiful  on  paper ;  but 
they  would  not  work  well  in  Barford- 
shire  villages.  However,  you  profess 
to  go  by  experience  in  every  thing. 
There  are  open  villages  Avithin  five 
miles.  I'll  give  you  a  list.  Visit 
them.  You  will  find  that  liberty  can 
be  the  father  of  tyranny.  Petty  trades- 
men have  come  in  and  built  cottages, 
and  ground  the  poor  down  with  rents 
unknown  in  Islip ;  farmers  have  built 
cottages,  and  turned  their  laborers  into 
slaves.  Drunkenness,  dissipation, pov- 
erty, disattection,  and  miseiy — that  is 
what  you  will  find  in  the  open  villages. 
Now,  in  Islip  you  have  an  omnipotent 
squire,  and  that  is  an  abomination  in 
theory,  a  mediiEval  monster,  a  blot  on 
modern  civilization;  but  practically 
the  poor  monster  is  a  softener  of  pov- 
erty, an  incarnate  butVer  between  the 
poor  and  tyranny,  the  poor  and  mis- 
ery." 

"  I'll  inspect  the  open  villages,  and 
suspend  my  opinion  till  then,"  said 
Miss  Gale,  heartily;  "but,  in  the 
mean  time,  you  must  admit  that  where 
there  is  great  power  there  is  great  re- 
sponsibility." 

"Oh,  of  course." 

"Well,  then,  your  little  outlying 
province  of  Ilillstoke  is  full  of  rheu- 
matic adults  and  putty-faced  children. 
The  two  phenomena  arise  from  one 
cause — the  water.  No  lime  in  it,  and 
too  many  reptiles.  It  was  the  children 
gave  me  the  clue.  I  suspected  the 
cherry-stones  at  first:  but  when  I 
came  to  look  into  it,  1  found  they  eat 
just  as  many  cherry-stones  in  the  val- 
ley, and  are  as  rosy  as  apples ;  but, 
then,  there  is  well-water  in  the  valleys. 


158 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


So  I  put  this  and  that  togetlier,  and 
I  examined  the  water  they  drini^  at 
Hillstoke.  Sir,  it  is  full  of  aniinalcula. 
Some  of  these  can  not  withstand  the 
heat  of  the  human  stomach  ;  but  oth- 
ers can,  for  I  tried  them  in  mud  arti- 
ficially heated.  [A  giK{?le  from  Fan- 
ny Dover.]  Thanks  to  your  micro- 
scope, I  have  made  sketches  of  several 
amphibia  who  live  in  those  boys'  stom- 
achs, and  irritate  their  membranes, 
and  share  their  scanty  nourishment, 
besides  other  injuries."  Thereupon 
she  produced  some  drawings,  'i'hey 
were  handed  louiid,  and  struck  terror 
in  gentle  bosoms.  "Oh,  gracious!" 
cried  Fanny,  "one  ought  to  drink 
nothing  but  Champagne."  Uxmoor 
looked  grave.  Vizard  affected  to 
doubt  their  authenticity.  He  said, 
"You  may  not  know  it,  but  I  am  a 
zoologist,  and  these  are  antediluvian 
eccentiicities  that  have  long  ceased  to 
embellish  the  world  we  live  in.  Fie  I 
Miss  Gale.  Down  with  anachro- 
nisms." 

Miss  Gale  smiled,  and  admitted  that 
one  or  two  of  the  prodigies  resembled 
antediluvian  monsters,  but  said  orac- 
ularly that  nature  was  fond  of  produ- 
cing the  same  thing  on  a  large  scale 
and  a  small  scale,  and  it  was  cpiite 
jiossible  the  small  type  of  antediluvian 
monster  might  have  survived  the  large. 

"That  is  most  ingenious, "said  Viz- 
ard ;  "  but  it  does  not  account  for  this 
fellow.  He  is  not  an  antediluvian  ; 
he  is  a  barefeced  modern,  for  he  is  a 

STKAM-ENGINK." 

This  caused  a  laugh,  for  the  creatiu'e 
had  a  peri)en(licular  neck,  like  a  fun- 
nel, that  rose  out  of  a  body  like  a  hor- 
izontal cylinder. 

"At  any  rate,"  said  Mi-ss  Gale, 
"the  little  monster  was  in  the  world 
first;  so  he  is  not  an  imitation  of 
man's  work." 

"Well,"  said  Vizard,  "after  all, 
we  have  had  enough  of  the  monsters 
of  the  deep.  Now  we  can  vary  the 
monotony,  and  say  the  monsters  of 
the  shallow.  But  I  don't  see  how 
tlipv  can  cause  rheumatism." 


"I  never  said  they  did,"  retorted 

Miss  Gale,  sharply:  "but  the  water 
which  contains  them  is  soft  water. 
There  is  no  lime  in  it,  and  that  is  bad 
for  the  bones  in  every  way.  Only 
the  children  drink  it  as  it  is:  the 
wives  boil  it,  and  so  drink  soft  water 
and  dead  reptiles  in  their  tea.  The 
men  instinctively  avoid  it,  and  drink 
nothing  but  beer.  Thus,  for  want  of 
a  pure  diluent  with  lime  in  solution, 
an  acid  is  created  in  the  blood  which 
produces  gout  in  the  rich,  and  rheu- 
matism in  the  poor,  thanks  to  their 
meagre  food  and  exposure  to  the 
weather."  ' 

"Poor  things !"  said  womanly  Zoe. 
"What  is  to  be  done?" 

"La!"  said  Fanny,  "throw  lime 
into  the  ponds  :  that  will  kill  the  mon- 
sters, and  cuie  the  old  people's  bones 
into  the  bargain." 

This  compendious  scheme  struck 
the  imagination,  but  did  not  satisfy 
the  judgment  of  the  assembly. 

"  Fanny  !"  said  Zoe,  reproachfidly. 

"  That  would  be  killing  two  birds 
with  one  stone,"  suggested  Uxmoor, 
satirically. 

"The  tender  mercies  of  the  wick- 
ed arc  cruel,"  explained  Vizard,  com- 
posedly. 

Zoe  reiterated  her  question,  what 
was  to  be  done  ? 

Miss  Gale  turned  to  her  with  a 
smile.  "  We  have  got  nothing  to  do 
but  to  point  out  these  abominations. 
The  person  to  act  is  the  Russian  auto- 
crat, the  paternal  dictator,  the  mon- 
arch of  all  he  surveys,  and  adv(K'ate 
of  monarchical  institutions.  He  is  the 
buffer  between  the  poor  and  all  their 
ills,  especially  poison :  he  must  dig  a 
well." 

Every  eye  being  turned  on  Vizard 
to  see  how  he  took  this,  he  said,  a 
little  satirically,  "What!  does  Sci- 
ence bid  me  bore  for  water  at  the  top 
of  a  hill?" 

"She  does  so,"  said  the  virago. 
"Now  look  here,  good  people." 

And  although  they  were  not  all  good 
people,  yet  tlicy  all   did   look   there, 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


159 


she  shone  so  with  intelligence,  being 
now  quite  on  her  metal. 

"  Ilalf-civilized  man  makes  blun- 
ders that  both  the  savage  and  the  civ- 
ilized avoid.  The  savage  builds  his 
hut  by  a  running  stream.  The  civil- 
ized man  draws  good  water  to  his 
door,  lliough  he  must  lay  down  pipes 
from  a  highland  lake  to  a  lowland 
city.  It  is  only  half-civilized  man 
that  builds  a  village  on  a  hill,  and 
drinks  worms,  and  snakes,  and  efts, 
and  antediluvian  monsters  in  limeless 
water.  Tlien  I  say,  if  great  but  half- 
civilized  monarchs  would  consult  Sci- 
ence before  tliey  built  their  serf  huts, 
Science  would  say,  'Don't  you  go 
and  put  down  human  habitations  far 
from  pure  watei" — the  universal  dilu- 
ent, the  only  cheap  diluent,  and  the 
only  liquid  which  does  not  require  di- 
gestion, and  therefore  must  always 
assist,  and  never  chemically  resist,  tiie 
digestion  of  solids.'  But  when  the 
mischief  is  done,  and  the  cottages  are 
built  on  a  hill  three  miles  from  water, 
tlien  all  that  Science  can  do  is  to  show 
the  remedv,  and  the  remedy  is — bor- 
ing." 

"Then  the  remedy  is  like  the  dis- 
cussion," said  Fanny  Dover,  verv  pert- 
ly. 

Zoe  was  amused,  bnt  shocked.  Miss 
Gale  turned  her  head  on  the  offender 
as  sharp  as  a  bird.  "Of  course  it  is, 
to  children"  said  she;  "and  tliat  is 
why  I  wislicd  to  confine  it  to  mature 
minds.  It  is  to  you  I  speak,  sir. 
Are  your  subjects  to  drink  poison,  or 
will  you  bore  me  a  well  ? — Oh,  please  I " 

"Do  you  hear  tiiat?"  said  Vizard, 
piteously,  to  Uxmoor.  "TIn-eatened 
and  cajoled  in  one  brcatii.  Who  can 
resist  this  fatal  sex  ? —  Miss  Gale,  I 
will  bore  a  well  onllillstoke  common. 
Any  idea  how  deep  we  must  go  —  to 
the  antipodes,  or  only  to  the  centre?" 

"  Tliree  hundred  and  thirty  feet,  or 
thereabouts." 

"  No  more  ?  Any  idea  what  it  will 
cost  ?" 

"Of  course  I  have.  The  well,  tlie 
double  windlass,  the  iron    diain,  tlie 


two  buckets,  a  cupola  over  the  well, 
and  twenty-three  keys — one  for  every 
head  of  a  house  in  the  hamlet  —  will 
cost  you  about  £315." 

"Why,  this  is  Detail  made  woman. 
IIow  do  vou  know  all  this?" 

"Froin  Tom  Wilder." 

"Who  is  he?" 

"  What,  don't  you  know  ?  lie  is 
the  eldest  son  of  the  Islip  blacksmith, 
and  a  man  that  will  make  his  mark. 
He  casts  every  Thursday  night.  He 
is  the  only  village  blacksmith  in  all 
the  county  who  casts.  You  know 
that,  I  suppose." 

"No.     I  had  not  the  honor." 

"Well,  he  is,  then:  and  I  thought 
you  would  consent,  because  you  are 
so  good :  and  so  I  thought  there 
could  be  no  harm  in  sounding  Tom 
Wilder.  He  offers  to  take  the  whole 
contract,  if  squire's  agreeable;  bore 
the  well ;  brick  it  fifty  yards  down : 
he  says  that  ought  to  be  done,  if  she 
is  to  have  justice.  '  She '  is  the  well : 
and  he  will  also  construct  the  gear ; 
he  says  there  must  be  two  iron  chains 
and  two  buckets  going  together ;  so 
then  the  empty  bucket  descending  will 
help  the  man  or  woman  at  the  wind- 
lass to  draw  the  full  bucket  up.  £315 : 
one  week's  income,  your  Majesty." 

"  She  has  inspected  our  rent-roll, 
now,"  said  Vizard,  pathetically  :  "and 
knows  nothing  about  the  matter." 

"  Except  that  it  is  a  mere  flea-bite 
to  you  to  bore  through  a  hill  for  water. 
For  all  that,  I  hope  you  will  leave  me 
to  battle  it  with  'J'om  Wilder.  Then 
you  won't  be  cheated,  for  once.  You 
ulirai/s  (ire,  and  it  is  abominable.  It 
would  have  been  five  hundred  if  you 
had  opened  the  business." 

"  1  am  sure  that  is  true,"  said  Zoe. 
She  added  this  would  please  Mrs. 
.Judge  :  she  was  full  of  tlie  superiori- 
ty of  Islip  to  Hillstoke. 

"  Sto])  a  bit,"  said  Vizard.  "  Miss 
Gale  has  not  reported  on  Islip  yet." 

"No,  dear;  but  she  has  looked 
into  every  thing,  for  Mrs.  Judge  told 
me.  You  have  been  into  the  cot- 
tages?" . 


160 


A  WOxMAN-IIATEU. 


"Yes." 

"IntoMarks's?" 

"Yes,  I  have  been  into  Maiks's." 

She  did  not  seem  inclined  to  be 
very  communicative ;  so  Fanny,  out 
of  miscliief,  said,  pertly,  "And  what 
did  vou  see  there,  with  your  Argus 
eye?" 

"I  saw — three  generations." 

"Ha!  ha!  La!  did  you  now? 
And  what  were  they  all  doing?"' 

"They  were  all  living  together, 
niglit  and  day,  in  one  room." 

This  conveyed  no  very  distinct  idea 
to  the  ladies  ;  but  Vizard,  for  the  first 
time,  turned  red  at  this  revelation 
before  Uxmoor,  improver  of  cottage 
life.  "Confound  the  brutes!"  said 
he.  "  Why,  I  built  them  a  new  room ; 
a  larger  one  :  didn't  you  see  it?" 

"Yes.  They  stack  their  potatoes 
in  it." 

"Just  like  my  people,"  said  Ux- 
moor. "  That  is  the  worst  of  it :  they 
resist  their  own  improvement." 

"Yes,  but,"said  the  doctress,  "with 
monarchical  power  we  can  trample  on 
them  for  their  good.  Outside  Marks's 
door  at  the  back  there  is  a  muck-heap, 
as  he  calls  it ;  all  the  refuse  of  tlie 
house  is  thrown  there ;  it  is  a  horri- 
ble melange  of  organic  matter  and  de- 
caying vegetables,  a  hot-bed  of  fever 
and  nuilaria.  Suffocated  and  j)oison- 
ed  with  the  breath  of  a  dozen  persons, 
they  open  the  window  for  fresh  air, 
ami  in  rushes  tyjjhoid  from  the  stiong- 
hold  its  victims  have  built.  Two  chil- 
dren were  buried  from  that  house  last 
year.  They  were  both  killed  by  the 
domestic  ariangements  as  certainly  as 
if  they  had  been  shot  with  a  double- 
barreled  pistol.  The  outside  roses 
you  admire  so  are  as  delusive  as  flat- 
tery ;  their  sweetness  covers  a  foul, 
unwholesome  den." 

"Marks's  cottage !  The  show  place 
of  the  village!"  Zoe  Vizard  flushed 
with  indignation  at  the  bold  hand  of 
truth  so  rudely  applied  to  a  pleasant 
and  cherished  illusion. 

Vizard,  more  candid  and  o]ien  to 
new  truths,  shrugged  his 'shoulders. 


and  said,  "  What  can  I  do  more  than 
I  have  done  ?" 

"  (.)h,  it  is  not  your  fault,"  said  the 
doctress,  graciously.  "It  is  theirs. 
Only,  as  you  are  their  superior  in  in- 
telligence and  power,  you  might  do 
something  to  put  down  indecency, 
immorality,  and  disease." 

"May  i  ask  what?" 

"  Well,  you  might  build  a  granaiy 
for  the  poor  peoj^le's  ])otatoes.  Ko 
room  can  keej)  them  dry ;  but  you 
build  your  granary  upon  four  jjillars  : 
then  that  is  like  a  room  over  a  cel- 
lar." 

"  Well,  I'll  build  it  so— if  I  build  it 
at  all,"  said  Vizard,  dryly.  "What 
next?" 

"'J'henyon  could  make  them  stack 
their  potatoes  in  the  granary,  and  use 
the  spare  room,  and  so  divide  their 
families,  and  give  morality  a  chance. 
The  muck -heap  you  should  disperse 
at  once  with  the  strong  hand  of  pow- 
er." 

At  this  last  proposal.  Squire  Vizard 
— the  truth  must  be  told — delivered 
a  long,  plowman's  whistle  at  the  head 
of  his  own  table. 

"rheugh!"  said  he;  "for  a  lady 
that  is  more  than  half  republican, 
you  seem  to  be  taking  very  kindly  to 
monarchical  tyranny. " 

"  Well,  now,  I'll  tell  you  the  trutli," 
said  she.  "You  have  converted  me. 
Ever  since  you  promised  me  the  well, 
I  have  discovered  that  the  best  foini 
of  government  is  a  good-hearted  ty- 
rant." 

"With  a  female  viceroy  over  him, 
eh?" 

"  Only  in  these  little  domestic 
matters,"  said  Khoda,  deprecatingly. 
"Women  are  good  advisers  in  such 
things.  The  male  physician  relies  on 
drugs.  Medical  women  are  wanted 
to  moderate  that  delusion  ;  to  prevent 
disease  by  domestic  vigilance,  and  cure 
it  by  well-selected  esculents  and  pure 
air.  These  will  cure  fifty  for  one  that 
medicine  can  ;  besides,  drugs  kill  ever 
so  many  :  these  never  killed  a  creat- 
ine.    You  will  give  me  the  granary, 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


IGl 


won't  you?  Oh,  and  there's  a  black 
pond  in  tlie  centre  of  the  village. 
Your  tenant  Pickett,  who  is  a  fool 
—  begging  bis  pardon  —  lets  all  his 
liquid  manure  run  out  of  his  j'ard  into 
the  village  till  it  accumulates  in  a 
pond  right  opposite  the  five  cottages 
they  call  New  Town,  and  its  exhala- 
tions taint  the  air.  There  are  as 
many  fevers  in  Islip  as  in  the  back 
slums  of  a  town.  Ifou  might  fill  the 
pond  up  with  chalk,  and  compel  Pick- 
ett to  sink  a  tank  in  his  yard,  and 
cover  it ;  then  an  agricultural  treas- 
ure would  be  preserved  for  its  proper 
use,  instead  of  being  perverted  into  a 
source  of  infection.'' 

Vizard  listened  civill\%  and,  as  she 
stopped,  requested  her  to  go  on. 

"I  think  we  have  had  enough," 
said  Zoe,  bitterly. 

lihoda,  who  was  in  love  with  Zoe, 
bung  her  head,  and  said,  "Yes;  I 
have  been  very  bold." 

"Fiddle -stick!"  said  Vizard. 
"Never  miiul  those  girls.  You 
speak  out  like  a  man :  a  stranger's 
eye  always  discovers  things  that  es- 
cajie  the  natives.     Proceed." 

"No;  I  won't  proceed  till  I  have 
explained  to  Miss  Vizard." 

"You  may  spare  yourself  the  trou- 
ble. Miss  Vizard  thought  Islip  was 
a  jiaradise.  You  have  dispelled  the 
illusion,  and  she  will  never  forgive 
you.  Miss  Dover  wjU  ;  because  she 
is  like  (iallio — she  carctli  for  none  of 
these  things." 

"Not  a  ])in,"said  Fanny,  with  ad- 
mirable frankness. 

"Well,  but,"  said  Rhoda,  naively, 
"  I  can't  bear  Miss  Vizard  to  be  an- 
gry with  me  ;  I  admire  her  so.  Please 
let  me  explain.  Islip  is  no  paradise 
— quite  the  reverse  ;  but  the  faults  of 
Islip  are  not  i/our  faults.  The  chil- 
dren are  ignorant;  but  you  pay  for  a 
school.  The  i)eople  are  ]>()()r  from  in- 
sufficient wages ;  but  you  are  not  pay- 
master. Your  gardeners,  i/our  hiiuls, 
and  all  your  outdoor  ])eoi)le  have 
enough.  You  give  them  houses.  You 
let  cottages  and  gardens  to  the  rest  at 


half  their  value  ;  and  very  often  they 
don't  pay  that,  but  make  excuses  ; 
and  you  accept  them,  though  they  are 
all  stories ;  for  they  can  pay  every 
body  but  you,  and  their  one  good  bar- 
gain is  with  you.  Miss  Vizard  has 
carried  a  basket  all  her  life  with  things 
from  your  table  for  the  poor." 

Miss  Vizard  blushed  crimson  at  this 
sudden  revelation. 

"  If  a  man  or  a  woman  has  seiTed 
your  house  long,  there's  a  pension  for 
life.  You  are  easy,  kind,  and  chari- 
table. It  is  the  faults  of  others  I  ask 
you  to  cure,  because  you  have  such 
power.  Now,  for  instance,  if  the  boys 
at  Hillstoke  are  putty-faced,  the  boys 
at  Islip  have  no  calves  to  their  legs. 
That  is  a  sure  sign  of  a  deteriorating 
species.  The  lower  type  of  savage 
has  next  to  no  calf.  The  calf  is  a 
sign  of  civilization  and  due  nourish- 
ment. This  single  phenomenon  was 
my  clue,  and  led  me  to  others ;  and 
I  have  examined  the  mothers  and  the 
people  of  all  ages,  and  I  tell  you  it  is 
a  village  of  starvelings.  Here  a  child 
begins  life  a  starveling,  and  ends  as 
he  began.  The  nursing  mother  has 
not  food  enough  for  one,  far  less  for 
two.  The  man's  wages  are  insuffi- 
cient, and  the  diet  is  not  only  insuf- 
ficient, but  injudicious.  The  race 
has  declined.  There  are  only  five 
reallv  big,  strong  men — Josh  Grace, 
Will"  Hudson,  David  Wilder,  Al)sa- 
lom  tireen,  and  Jack  Greenaway ; 
and  they  are  all  over  fifty — men  of 
another  generation.  I  have  ques- 
tioned these  men  how  they  were  bred, 
and  they  all  say  milk  was  common 
when  they  were  boys.  Many  poor 
l)eople  kept  a  cow ;  squire  doled  it ; 
the  farmers  gave  it  or  sold  it  cheap  ; 
but  nowadays  it  is  scarcely  to  be  had. 
Now,  that  is  not  your  fault,  but  you 
are  the  man  wbo  can  mend  it.  New 
milk  is  meat  and  drink,  especially  to 
young  and  growing  i^eople.  You  have 
a  large  meadow  at  the  back  of  the 
village.  It'  you  could  be  persuaded  to 
start  four  or  five  cows,  and  let  some- 
body sell  their  new  milk  to  the  poor 


162 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


at  cost  price — say,  five  fartliings  tlie 
quart.  You  must  not  give  it,  or  they 
will  water  tlieir  muck -heaps  with  it. 
With  those  cows  alone  you  will  get 
rid,  in  the  next  generation,  of  the 
half- grown,  slouching  men,  the  hol- 
low-eyed, narrow-chested,  round- 
backed  women,  and  the  calHess  boys 
one  sees  all  over  Islip,  and  restore  the 
stalwart  race  tiiat  filled  the  little  vil- 
lage under  your  sires,  and  have  left 
proofs  of  their  wholesome  food  on  tlie 
tombstones :  for  I  iiave  read  every  in- 
scription, and  far  more  j)eople  reached 
eigiity-five  between  IZoO  and  1800 
than  "between  1820  and  1870.  Ah, 
liow  I  envy  j-ou  to  be  able  to  do  such 
great  things  so  easily !  Water  to 
poisoned  llillstoke  witii  one  hand; 
milk  to  starved  Islip  with  the  otiier. 
This  is  to  be  indeed  a  king!" 

The  enthusiast  rose  from  the  table 
in  her  excitement,  and  her  face  was 
transfigured  ;  she  looked  beautiful  for 
the  moment. 

"I'll  do  it," sliouted  Vizard;  "and 
you  are  a  trump." 

Miss  Gale  sat  down,  and  the  color 
left  her  cheek  entirely. 

Fanny  Dover,  who  had  a  very  quick 
eye  for  passing  events,  cried  out, 
"  Oh  dear !  she  is  going  to  faint  note. " 
The  tone  im])lied,  wliat  a  plague  she  is! 

Tliereupon  Severne  rushed  to  her, 
and  was  going  to  sprinkle  her  face ; 
but  she  faltered,  "A'o!  no!  a  glass 
of  wine."  He  gave  her  one  with  all 
tlie  Iiurry  and  cmpressement  in  the 
world.  She  fixed  liim  witli  a  strange 
look  as  she  took  it  from  him  :  slie  sip- 
ped it ;  one  tear  ran  into  it.  She  said 
siie  had  excited  herscK;  but  she  was 
all  right  now.     Elastic  Klioda! 

"1  am  very  glad  of  it,"  said  Viz- 
ard. "Yon  are  quite  strong  enough 
without  fainting.  For  I  leaven's  sake, 
don't  add  woman's  weakness  to  your 
artillery,  or  you  will  be  irresistible ; 
and  I  shall  have  to  divide  Vizard 
Court  among  the  villagers.  At  pres- 
ent I  get  oti'clieap,  and  Science  on  the 
Rampage :  let  me  see — only  a  gran- 
ary, a  well,  and  si.x  cows." 


"They'll  give  as  much  milk  as 
twelve  cows  without  the  well,"  said 
Fanny  :  it  was  her  day  for  wit. 

This  time  she  was  rewarded  with  a 
general  laugh. 

It  subsided,  as  such  things  will,  and 
then  Vizard  said,  solemnly,  "New 
ideas  are  suggested  to  me  by  this 
charming  interview ;  and  pennit  me 
to  give  them  a  form,  which  will  doubt- 
less be  new  to  these  accomplished 
ladies : 

"  'Gin  there's  a  hole  in  a'  your  coats, 

I  redo  ye  tent  it  ; 
A  chiel's  ain:nit;ye  takin'  notes, 
And,  faith,  he'll  preut  iU'  " 

Zoe  looked  puzzled,  and  Fanny  in- 
quired what  language  that  was. 

"Very  good  language." 

"Then  jjerhaps  you  will  translate 
it  into  language  one  can  understand." 

"  The  English  of  the  day,  eh  ?" 

"Yes." 

"  You  think  that  would  improve  it, 
do  you  ?    Well,  then  : 

" '  If  tlieie  is  a  defect  in  any  one  of  yonr 
liabiiimciits, 

Let  me  earnestly  impress  on  you  the  ex- 
pediency of  repairing  it ; 

An  iiidividiuil  is  among  you  with  singu- 
lar powers  of  obBervation, 

Which  will  infallibly  result  iu  printing 
and  publication.' 

Zoe,  you  are  an  affectionate  sister; 
take  this  too  observant  lady  into  the 
garden,  poison  her  with  raw  fruit,  and 
bury  her  under  a  pear-tree." 

Zoe  said  she  would  caiTV  out  part 
of  the  programme,  if  Miss  Gale  would 
come. 

Then  the  ladies  rose  and  rustled 
.iway,  and  the  rivals  would  liave  fol- 
lowed, but  Vizard  detained  them  on 
the  pretense  of  consulting  them  about 
the  well ;  but,  when  the  ladies  had 
gone,  he  owned  he  had  done  it  out  of 
his  hatred  to  the  sex.  He  said  he 
was  sure  hot!)  girls  disliked  his  virago 
in  their  hearts,  so  he  had  compelled 
them  to  spend  an  hour  together,  with- 
out any  man  to  soften  their  asjierity. 

This  malicious  experiment  was  tol- 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


1C3 


erably  successful.  The  three  ladies 
strolled  together,  dismal  as  souls  in 
purgatory.  One  or  two  little  attempts 
at  conversation  were  made,  but  died 
out  for  want  of  sympathy.  Then  Fan- 
ny tried  personalities,  the  natural  top- 
ic of  the  sex  in  general. 

"  Miss  Gale,  which  do  you  admire 
most.  Lord  Uxmoor  or  Mr.  Severne  ?" 

"For  their  looks?" 

"Oh,  of  course." 

"Mr.  Severne." 

"  You  don't  admire  beards,  then  ?" 

"  Tiiat  depends.  Where  the  mouth 
is  well  shaped  and  expressive,  the 
beard  spoils  it.  Wiiere  it  is  common- 
place, the  beard  hides  its  defect,  and 
gives  a  manly  character.  As  a  gen- 
eral rule,  I  think  the  male  bird  looks 
well  with  his  crest  and  feathers." 

"And  so  do  I,"  said  Fanny,  warm- 
ly ;  "  and  yet  I  should  not  like  Mr. 
Severne  to  have  a  beard.  Don't  you 
think  he  is  very  handsome?" 

"He  is  something  more,"  said 
Rhoda.  "He  is  beautiful.  If  he 
was  dressed  as  a  woman,  the  gentle- 
men would  all  riui  after  him.  I  think 
his  is  the  most  perfect  oval  face  I  ever 
saw." 

"But  you  must  not  fall  in  love 
with  him,"  said  Fanny. 

"I  do  not  mean  to,"  said  Rhoda. 
"  Falling  in  love  is  not  my  business  : 
and  if  it  was,  1  should  not  select  Mr. 
Severne." 

"Why  not,  pray?"  inquired  Zoe, 
haughtily.  Her  manner  w;is  so  men- 
acing that  Rhoda  did  not  like  to  say 
too  much  just  tlien.  She  felt  her 
way. 

"I  am  a  physiognomist,"  said  she, 
"and  I  don't  think  lie  can  be  very 
truthful.  He  is  old  of  his  age,  and 
there  are  premature  marks  under  liis 
eyes  that  reveal  craft,  and  jierhaps 
dissipation.  These  are  hardly  visible 
in  the  room,  but  tliey  are  in  tlie  oi)en 
air,  when  you  get  the  full  light  of  day. 
To  be  sure,  just  now  his  face  is  mark- 
ed witli  care  and  anxiety  :  that  young 
man  has  a  good  deal  on  iiis  mind." 

Here  the  observer  discovered  that 


even  this  was  a  great  deal  too  much. 
Zoe  was  displeased,  and  felt  affronted 
by  her  remarks,  though  she  did  not 
condescend  to  notice  them,  so  Rhoda 
broke  off  and  said,  "It  is  not  fair  of 
you,  Miss  Dover,  to  set  me  giving  my 
opinion  of  people  you  must  know  bet- 
ter than  I  do.  Oh,  what  a  garden!" 
And  she  was  off  directly  on  a  tour  of 
inspection.  "  Come  along,"  said  she, 
"  and  I  will  tell  you  their  names  and 
properties." 

They  could  hardly  keep  up  with 
her,  she  was  so  eager.  The  fruits  did 
not  interest  her,  but  only  the  simples. 
She  was  downright  learned  in  these, 
and  found  a  surprising  number.  But 
the  fact  is,  ]Mr.  Lucas  had  a  respect 
for  his  predecessors.  What  they  had 
planted,  he  seldom  uprooted — at  least, 
he  always  left  a  specimen.  Miss  Gale 
approved  his  system  highlv,  until  she 
came  to  a  row  of  green  leaves  like 
small  horse-radish,  which  was  plant- 
ed by  the  side  of  another  row  that  re- 
ally was  horse-radish." 

"This  is  too  bad,  even  for  Islip," 
said  Miss  Gale.  "  Here  is  one  of  our 
deadliest  poisons  planted  by  the  very 
side  of  an  esculent  herb,  which  it  re- 
sembles. You  don't  happen  to  have 
hired  the  devil  for  gardener  at  any 
time,  do  you  ?  Just  fancy  !  any  cook 
miglit  come  out  here  for  horse-radish, 
and  gatlier  this  plant,  and  lay  you  all 
dead  at  your  own  table.  It  is  the 
Aconituni  of  medicine,  the  IMonk's- 
iiood  or  Wolf's-bane  of  our  ancestors. 
Call  the  gardener,  please,  and  have 
every  bit  of  it  pulled  up  by  the  roots. 
None  of  yotu"  lives  are  safe  while  poi- 
sons and  esculents  are  planted  togeth- 
er like  this." 

And  she  woidd  not  budge  till  Zoe 
directed  a  gardener  to  dig  up  all  the 
Aconite.  A  couple  of  tiiem  went  to 
work  and  soon  uprooted  it.  Tiie  gar- 
deners then  asked  if  tiiey  should  burn 
it. 

"Not  for  all  the  world,"  said  Miss 
Gale,  "ilake  a  bundle  of  it  for  me 
to  take  home.  It  is  only  poison  in 
the  hands  of  ignoramuses.     It  is  most 


1C4 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


sovereign  medicine.  I  shall  make 
tiiic-tures,  and  clicck  many  a  .sliar])  ill 
with  it.  Given  in  time,  it  cuts  down 
fever  wonderfully  ;  and  when  you 
check  the  fever,  you  check  tlie  dis- 
ease. " 

Soon  after  this  Miss  Gale  said  she 
had  not  come  to  stoj) ;  she  was  on  her 
way  to  Taddington  to  buy  lint  and 
German  styptics,  and  many  tilings 
useful  in  domestic  surgery.  "For," 
said  she,  "  the  people  at  Hillstoke 
are  relenting;  at  least,  they  run  to 
me  with  their  cut  lingers  and  black 
eyes,  thougii  they  won't  trust  me  with 
their  sacred  rheumatics.  1  must  also 
Eupply  myself  with  vermifuges  till  the 
well  is  dug,  and  so  mitigate  puerile 
puttiuess  and  internal  torments." 

The  other  ladies  were  not  sorry  to 
get  rid  of  an  irrelevant  zealot,  who 
talked  neither  love  nor  dress,  nor  any 
thing  that  reaches  the  soul. 

So  Zoe  said,  "What,  going  al- 
ready?" and  having  paid  that  tax  to 
politeness,  returned  to  the  house  with 
alacrity. 

Buttlie  doctress  would  not  go  with- 
out her  Woifs-bane,  Aconite  ycleped. 

Tiie  irrelevant  zealot  being  gone, 
the  true  business  of  the  mind  was  re- 
sumed; and  that  is  love-making,  or 
novelists  give  us  false  pictures  of  life, 
and  that  is  irnpossii)le. 

As  the  doctress  drove  from  the  front 
door.  Lord  Uxmoor  emerged  from  the 
library — a  coincidence  tliat  made  both 
girls  smile  ;  he  hoped  Miss  Vizard  was 
not  too  tired  to  take  another  turn. 

"Oh  no!"  said  Zoe:  "are  you, 
Fanny  ?"' 

At'the  first  step  they  took,  Severne 
came  roimd  an  angle  of  the  building 
and  joined  them.  He  had  watched 
from  tlie  balcony  of  bis  l)edrooin. 

]}otii  men  looked  black  at  each  oth- 
er, and  made  up  to  Zoe.  She  felt  un- 
comfortable, and  hardly  knew  what  to 
do.  However,  she  would  not  seem  to 
observe,  and  was  polite,  but  a  little 
stiff,  to  both. 

However,  nt  last  Severne,  hiiving  as- 
serted ills  rights,  as  he  thought,  gave 


way,  but  not  without  a  sufiicient  mo- 
tive, as  may  be  gathered  from  his  first 
word  to  Fainiy. 

"  My  dear  friend,  for  Heaven's  sake, 
what  is  the  matter?  She  is  angry 
with  me  about  something.  What  is 
it?  has  she  told  you?" 

"  Not  a  word.  But  I  see  she  is  in 
a  fury  with  you ;  and  really  it  is  too 
ridiculous.  Vou  told  a  fib ;  that  is  the 
mighty  matter,  I  do  believe.  No,  it 
isn't,  for  you  have  told  her  a  hundred, 
no  doubt,  and  slie  liked  you  all  the 
better;  but  this  time  you  have  been 
naughty  enough  to  be  found  out,  and 
she  is  romantic,  and  thinks  her  lover 
ought  to  be  the  soul  of  truth." 

"  Well,  and  so  he  ouglit,"  said  Ned. 

"He  isn't,  then  ;"  and  Fanny  burst 
out  laughing  so  loud  that  Zoe  turned 
lound  and  enveloped  them  both  in  one 
haughty  glance,  as  the  exaggerating 
Gaul  would  say. 

"La!  there  was  a  look  for  yon!" 
said  Fanny,  pertly  :  "  as  if  I  cared  for 
her  black  brows." 

"I  do,  though:  pray  remember 
that." 

"Then  tell  no  more  fibs.  Such  a 
fuss  about  nothing!  What  is  a  fib?" 
and  she  turned  up  her  little  nose  very 
contemptuously  at  all  such  trivial  souls 
as  minded  a  litile  mendacity. 

Indeed,  she  disclaimed  the  impor- 
tance of  veracity  so  ini])eriously  that 
Severne  was  betrayed  into  saying, 
"  Well,  not  much,  "between  you  and 
me ;  and  I'll  be  bound  I  can  explain 
it." 

"Explain  it  to  me,  then." 

"Well,  but  I  don't  know—" 

"Which  of  your  fibs  it  was." 

Another  silver  bin-st  of  laughter. 
But  Zoe  only  vouchsafed  a  slightly 
contemptuous  movement  of  her  shoul- 
ders. 

"Well,  no,"  said  Severne,  half 
laughing  himself  at  the  sprightly  jade's 
smartness. 

"  Well,  then,  that  friend  of  3'ours 
that  called  at  luncheon." 

Severne     tinned     grave     directly. 


"Yes," said  he. 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


165 


"  You  said  he  was  youv  lawyer,  and 
came  about  a  lease." 

"So  he  did." 

"And  his  name  was  Jackson." 

"So  it  was." 

"This  won't  do.  You  mustn't  fib 
to  me!  It  was  I'oilvihis,  a  Seciet  In- 
quiry ;  and  they  all  know  it ;  now  tell 
me,  without  a  fib — if  you  can — what 
ever  did  you  want  with  Poikiius  ?" 

Severne  looked  aghast.  He  falter- 
ed out,  "Why,  how  could  they  know?" 

"Why,  he  advertises,  stupid!  and 
Lord  Uxmoor  and  Harrington  had 
seen  it.  Gentlemen  read  advertise- 
ments. That  is  one  of  their  peculiar- 
ities." 

"Of  course  he  advertises:  that  is 
not  what  I  mean.  I  did  not  drop  his 
card,  did  I  ?  No  ;  I  am  sure  I  pock- 
eted it  directly.  What  mischief-mak- 
ing viUain  told  them  it  was  Poikiius?" 

Fanny  colored  a  little,  hut  said,  has- 
tily, "Ah,  that  I  could  not  tell  you." 

"  The  footman,  perhaps  ?" 

"  I  should  not  wonder."  (What  is 
a  fib?) 

"Curse  him!" 

"Oh,  don"t  swear  at  tlie  servants; 
that  is  bad  taste." 

"Not  when  he  has  ruined  me?" 

"Ruined  you? — nonsense!  ]\Iake 
up  some  other  fib,  and  excuse  tlie 
first." 

"  I  can't.  I  don't  know  what  to  do ; 
and  before  my  rival,  loo !  This  ac- 
counts for  the  air  of  triumph  be  has 
worn  ever  since,  and  her  glances  of 
scorn  and  pity.  She  is  an  angel,  and 
I  have  lost  her." 

"Stuff  and  nonsense!"  said  Fanny 
Dover.  "Be  a  man,  and  tell  me  tlie 
truth." 

"  Well,  I  will,"  said  he  ;  "  for  I  am 
in  desj)air.  It  is  all  tiiat  cursed  mon-  j 
ey  at  Homburg.  I  could  not  clear 
my  estate  without  it.  I  dare  not  go 
for  it.  She  forbade  me ;  and  indeed 
I  cjn't  bear  to  leave  her  for  any  thing ; 
so  I  employed  Poikiius  to  try  and 
leani  whether  that  lady  has  the  mon- 
ey still,  and  wliether  she  means  to  rob 
me  of  it  or  not." 


Fanny  Dover  reflected  a  moment, 
then  delivered  herself  thus:  "You 
were  wrong  to  tell  a  fib  about  it. 
What  you  must  do  now — brazen  it 
out.  Tell  her  you  love  her,  but  have 
got  your  pride,  and  will  not  come  into 
iier  family  a  pauper.  Defy  her,  to  he 
sure  ;  we  like  to  be  defied  now  and 
then,  when  we  are  fond  of  the  fellow." 

"I  will  do  it,"said  he:  "but  she 
shuns  me.  I  can't  get  a  word  with 
her." 

Fanny  said  she  would  try  and  man- 
age that  for  him ;  and  as  the  rest  of 
their  talk  might  not  interest  the  read- 
er, and  certainly  would  not  edify  him, 
I  pass  on  to  the  fact  that  she  did,  that 
very  afternoon,  go  into  Zoe's  room, 
and  tell  her  Severne  was  very  unliap- 
])y :  he  had  told  a  fib;  but  it  was  not 
intended  to  deceive  her,  and  he  wished 
to  explain  the  whole  thing. 

"Did  he  explain  it  to  you?  '  asked 
Zoe,  rather  sharply. 

"  No ;  but  he  said  enough  to  make 
me  think  you  are  using  him  very  hard- 
ly. To  be  sure,  you  have  another 
string  to  your  bow." 

"Oh,  that  is  the  interpretation  you 
put." 

"  It  is  the  true  one.  Do  you  think 
you  can  make  me  believe  you  would 
have  shied  him  so  long  if  Lord  U.x- 
moor  had  not  been  in  the  house  ?" 

Zoe  bridled,  but  made  no  reply,  and 
Fanny  went  to  her  own  room,  laugh- 
ing. 

Zoe  was  much  disturbed.  She  se- 
cretly longed  to  hear  Severne  justify 
himself.  She  could  not  forgive  a  lie, 
nor  esteem  a  liar.  She  was  one  of 
those  who  could  pardon  certain  things 
in  a  woman  she  would  not  forgive  in 
a  man.  Under  a  calm  exterior,  she 
had  sutfcred  a  noble  distress  ;  but  her 
pride  would  not  let  her  show  it.  Yet 
now  that  he  had  appealed  to  lier  for  a 
hearing,  and  Fanny  knew  lie  had  ap- 
pealed, she  began  to  falter. 

Still  Fanny  was  not  altogether 
wrong:  the  ])iesencc  of  a  man  inca- 
)>able  of  a  falsehood,  and  that  man 
devoted  to  her,  was  a  little  damaging 


166 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


to  Severne,  though  not  so  much  as 
Miss  Artful  thought. 

However,  this  very  iifteriioon  Lord 
Uxmoor  liad  told  lier  lie  must  leave 
Vizard  Court  to-morrow  morning. 

So  Zoe  said  to  herself,  "  I  need  not 
make  opportunities ;  after  to-morrow 
he  will  find  plenty." 

She  had  an  instinctive  fear  he  wonld 
tell  more  falsehoods  to  cover  those 
he  had  told ;  and  then  she  should 
despise  him,  and  they  would  both  be 
miserable ;  fur  she  felt  for  a  moment 
a  horrible  dread  that  she  miglit  both 
love  and  despise  the  same  person,  if 
it  was  Edward  Severne. 

Tliere  were  several  people  to  dinner, 
and,  as  hostess,  she  managed  not  to 
think  too  much  of  either  of  her  ad- 
mirers. 

However,  a  stolen  glance  showed 
her  they  were  both  out  of  sjjirits. 

She  felt  Sony.  Her  nature  was  very 
pitiful.  Siie  asked  herself  was  it  her 
fault,  and  did  not  quite  acquit  herself. 
Perhaps  she  ought  to  have  been  more 
open,  and  declared  her  sentiments. 
Yet  would  that  have  been  modest  in 
a  lady  who  was  not  formally  engaged  ? 
Slie  was  puzzled.  She  had  no  exjie- 
rieuce  to  guide  her :  only  her  high 
breeding  and  her  virginal  instincts. 

She  was  glad  when  the  night  ended. 

She  caught  herself  wishing  tlie  next 
day  was  gone  too. 

When  she  retired,  Uxmoor  was  al- 
ready gone,  and  Severne  opened  the 
door  to  her.  He  fixed  his  eyes  on 
her  so  imploringly,  it  made  her  heart 
melt;  but  she  only  blushed  high,  and 
went  away  sad  and  silent. 

As  her  maid  was  undressing  her 
she  caught  sight  of  a  letter  on  her 
table.     "  What  is  that  ?"  said  she. 

"  It  is  a  letter,"  said  Kosa,  very 
demurely. 

Zoe  divined  that  the  girl  had  been 
asked  to  put  it  there. 

Her  bosom  heaved,  but  she  would 
not  encourage  such  proceedings,  nor 
let  Rosa  see  how  eager  she  was  to 
hear  those  very  excuses  she  had 
evaded. 


But,  for  all  that,  Rosa  knew  she 
was  going  to  read  it,  for  she  only  had 
her  gown  taken  off  and  a  jieignoir 
substituted,  and  her  hair  let  down 
and  brushed  a  little.  Tiien  she  dis- 
missed Rosa,  locked  the  door,  and 
pounced  on  the  letter.  It  lay  on  her 
table  with  the  seal  uppermost.  She 
turned  it  round.  It  was  not  from 
him  :  was  from  Lord  Uxmoor. 

She  sat  down  and  read  it. 

"  Dear  ]\Iiss  Vizard, — I  have  had 
no  opportunities  of  telling  you  all  I 
feel  for  you,  williout  attracting  an  at- 
tention that  might  have  been  unpleas- 
ant to  you  ;  but  I  am  sure  you  must 
h.ave  seen  that  I  admired  you  at  first 
sight.  That  was  admiration  of  your 
beauty  and  grace,  tiiough  even  then 
you  showed  me  a  gentle  lieait  and  a 
sympathy  that  made  me  grateful.  But, 
now  I  have  had  the  privilege  of  being 
under  the  same  roof  with  you,  it  is 
admiration  no  longer — it  is  deep  and 
ardent  love ;  and  I  see  that  my  hap- 
piness dejiends  on  you.  Will  you 
confide  yozir  happiness  to  me?  I 
don't  know  that  I  could  make  you  as 
proud  and  happy  as  I  should  be  my- 
self; but  I  should  try  very  hard,  out 
of  gratitude  as  well  as  love.  We 
have  also  certain  sentiments  in  com- 
mon.    Tiiat  would  be  one  bond  more. 

"But  indeed  I  feel  I  can  not  make 
my  love  a  good  bargain  to  you,  for 
you  are  peerless,  and  deserve  a  much 
better  lot  in  every  way  than  I  can  of- 
fer. I  can  only  kneel  to  you  and  sny, 
'  Zoe  Vizard,  if  your  heart  is  your  own 
to  give,  pray  be  my  lover,  my  queen, 
my  wife.' 

"  Your  faithful  servant  and  de- 
voted admirer,  Uxmoor." 

"Poor  fellow!"  said  Zoe,  and  her 
eyes  filled.  She  sat  quite  quiet,  with 
the  letter  open  in  her  liand. 

She  looked  at  it,  and  murmured, 
"  A  pearl  is  offered  me  here :  wealth, 
title,  all  that  some  women  sigh  for, 
and — what  I  value  above  all — a  noble 
nature,  a  true  heart,  and  a  soul  above 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


167 


all  meanness.  No;  Uxmoor  will  never 
tell  a  falsehood.     He  could  not." 

She  sighed  deeply,  and  closed  her 
eyes.  All  was  still.  The  light  was 
faint ;  yet  she  closed  her  eyes,  like  a 
true  woman,  to  see  the  future  clearer. 

Then,  in  the  sober  and  deep  calm, 
there  seemed  to  be  faint  peeps  of  com- 
ing things :  it  appeared  a  troubled 
sea,  and  Uxmoor's  strong  hand  stretch- 
ed out  to  rescue  her.  If  she  married 
him,  she  knew  the  worst — an  honest 
man  she  esteemed,  and  had  almost  an 
affection  for,  but  no  love. 

As  some  have  an  impulse  to  fling 
themselves  from  a  height,  she  had  one 
to  give  herself  to  Uxmoor,  quietly,  ir- 
revocably, by  tliree  written  words  dis- 
patched that  night. 

15ut  it  was  only  an  impulse.  If  she 
had  written  it,  slie  would  have  torn  it 

Presently  a  light  thrillpassed  through 
her:  she  wore  a  sort  of  half-fintive, 
guilty  look,  and  ojjened  the  window. 

Ay,  there  he  stood  in  tlie  moon- 
light, waiting  to  be  heard. 

She  did  not  start  nor  utter  any  ex- 
clamation. Somehow  or  other  she 
almost  knev)  he  was  there  before  she 
opened  the  window. 

"  Well?"  said  she,  with  a  world  of 
meaning. 

"  Yon  grant  me  a  hearing  at  last." 

"I  do.  But  it  is  no  use.  You 
can  not  explain  away  a  falsehood." 

"Of  coin'se  not.  I  am  here  to 
confess  that  I  told  a  falsehood.  But 
it  was  not  you  I  wished  to  deceive. 
I  was  going  to  explain  tiie  whole 
thing  to  you,  and  tell  you  all ;  but 
there  is  no  getting  a  word  with  you 
since  tiiat  lord  came." 

"  Me  had  nothing  to  do  with  it.  I 
should  have  been  just  as  much  shock- 
ed." 

"  But  it  would  only  have  been  for 
five  minutes.     Zoe !" 

"Well?" 

"  Just  put  yourself  in  my  place.  A 
detective,  who  ought  to  have  written 
■to  me  in  rejily  to  my  note,  surprises 
me  with  a  call.     I  was  ashamed  that 


such  a  visitor  should  enter  your  broth- 
er's house  to  see  me.  There  sat  my 
rival — an  aristocrat.  I  was  surprised 
into  disowning  the  unwelcomed  vis- 
itor, and  calling  him  my  solicitor." 

Now  if  Zoe  had  been  an  Old  Bailey 
counsel,  she  would  have  kept  him  to 
the  point,  reminded  him  tliat  his  vis- 
itor was  unseen,  and  tixed  a  voluntary 
falsehood  on  him ;  but  she  was  not  an 
experienced  cross-examiner,  and  per- 
haps she  was  at  heart  as  indignant  at 
tiie  detective  as  at  the  falsehood  :  so 
she  missed  her  advantage,  and  said, 
indignantly,  "And  what  business  had 
you  with  a  detective?  Your  having 
one  at  all,  and  then  calling  him  your 
solicitor,  makes  one  think  all  manner 
of  tilings." 

"1  should  have  told  you  all  about 
it  that  afternoon,  only  our  intercouise 
is  broken  off  to  please  a  rival.  Sup- 
pose I  gave  you  a  rival,  and  used  you 
for  her  sake  as  you  use  me  for  his, 
what  would  you  say  ?  'J'hat  would 
be  a  worse  infidelity  than  sending  for 
a  detective,  would  it  not  ?" 

Zoe  replied,  haughtily,  "You  have 
no  right  to  say  you  have  a  rival ;  how 
dare  you  ?  Besides,"  said  she,  a  little 
ruefully,  "it  is  you  wlio  are  on  your 
defense,  not  me.  " 

"True;  I  forgot  that.  Recrimina- 
tion is  not  convenient,  is  it  ?" 

"I  can  escape  it  by  shutting  the 
window,"  said  Zoe,  coldly. 

"  Oh,  don't  do  that.  Let  me  have 
the  bliss  of  seeing  you,  and  I  will  sub- 
mit to  a  good  deal  of  injustice  without 
a  minmm'." 

"  The  detective  ?"'  said  Zoe,  sternly. 

"I  sent  for  him,  and  gave  him  his 
instructions,  and  lie  is  gone  for  me  to 
H()inl)iu-g. " 

"Ah!  I  thought  so.     AVhatfor?" 

"About  my  money.  To  try  and 
find  out  whether  they  mean  to  keep 
it." 

"  Would  you  really  take  it  if  they 
would  give  it  von  ?" 

"Of  course"  I  would." 

"  Yet  you  know  my  mind  about  it." 

"I  know  you  forbade  me  to  go  for 


168 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


it  in  person  :  and  I  obeyed  vou,  did  I 
not  ?" 

"  Yes,  you  did — at  the  time." 

"I  do  now.  You  object  to  my 
going  in  person  to  Ilomburg.  You 
know  I  was  once  acquainted  with  that 
lady,  and  you  feel  about  her  a  little 
of  what  I  feel  about  Lord  Uxmoor ; 
about  a  teiitli  j)art  of  what  I  feci,  1 
suppose,  and  with  not  one-tentli  so 
much  reason.  Well,  I  know  what  the 
Jiangs  of  jealousy  are:  I  will  never  in- 
iiict  them  on  you,  as  you  have  on  me. 
But  I  icill  have  my  money,  whetlier 
you  like  or  not." 

Zoe  looked  amazed  at  being  defied. 
It  was  new  to  her.  She  drew  up,  but 
said  nothing. 

Sevenie  went  on  :  "And  I  will  tell 
you  why :  because  without  money  I 
can  not  have  you.  I\Iy  circumstances 
have  lately  improved  ;  with  my  mon- 
ey that  lies  in  Homburg  I  can  now 
clear  my  fomily  estate  of  all  incum- 
brance, and  come  to  your  brother  for 
your  hand.  Oh,  I  shall  be  a  very  bad 
match  even  then,  but  I  sliall  not  be  a 
pauper,  nor  a  man  in  debt.  I  shall 
be  one  of  your  own  class,  as  I  was 
born — a  small  landed  gentleman  with 
an  unencumbered  estate." 

"That  is  not  the  way  to  my  affec- 
tion.    I  do  not  care  for  mone^'." 

"  I'>ut  other  people  do.  Dear  Zoe, 
you  have  plenty  of  pride  yourself;  you 
must  let  me  have  a  little.  Deeply  as 
I  love  you,  I  could  not  come  to  your 
brother  and  say,  '  Give  me  your  sis- 
ter, and  maintain  us  both.'  No,  Zoe, 
I  can  not  ask  your  hand  till  I  have 
cleared  my  estate ;  and  1  can  not  clear 
it  without  that  money.  For  once  I 
must  resist  you,  and  take  my  chance. 
There  is  wealth  and  a  title  offered 
you.  I  won't  ask  you  to  dismiss  tliem 
and  take  a  pauper.  If  you  don't  like 
me  to  try  for  my  own  money,  give 
yom"  band  to  Lord  Uxmoor;  then  I 
shall  recall  my  detective,  and  let  all 
go  ;  for  poverty  or  wealth  will  matter 
nothing  to  me  :  I  shall  have  lost  the 
angel  I  love  :  and  she  once  loved  me." 

He  faltered,  and  the  sad  cadence 


of  his  voice  melted  her.  She  began 
to  cry.  He  turned  his  head  awuy 
and  cried  too. 

There  was  a  silence.  Zoe  broke  it 
first. 

"  Edward,"  said  she,  softly. 

"Zoe!" 

"You  need  not  defy  me.  I  would 
not  humiliate  you  for  all  the  world. 
Will  it  comfort  you  to  know  that  I 
have  been  very  unliappy  ever  since 
you  lowered  yourself  so?  I  will  try 
and  accept  your  exj)lanation." 

lie  clasped  his  hands  with  grati- 
tude. 

"Edward,  will  vou  grant  me  a  fa- 
vor ?" 

"Can  you  ask?" 

"It  is  to  have  a  little  more  confi- 
dence in  one  who —  Now  you  must 
obey  me  im))licitly,  and  perhaps  we 
may  both  be  hapjiier  to-moiTow  night 
than  we  are  to-night.  Directly  after 
breakfast,  take  your  hat  and  walk  to 
Iliiistoke.  You  can  call  on  Miss 
Gale,  if  you  like,  and  say  something 
civil." 

"What!  go  and  le.ave  you  alone 
with  Lord  U.xmoor  ?" 

"Yes." 

"Ah,  Zoe,  you  know  your  power. 
Have  a  little  mercy." 

"  Perhaps  I  may  have  a  great  deal 
— if  yon  obey  me." 

"  I  icill  obey  you." 

"Then  go  to  bed  this  minute." 

She  gave  him  a  heavenly  smile,  and 
closed  the  window. 

Next  morning,  as  soon  as  breakfast 
was  over,  Ned  Severne  said,  "Any 
messages  for  Hiilstoke?  I  am  going 
to  walk  up  there  this  morning." 

"  Embrace  my  virago  for  me," said 
Vizard. 

Severne  begged  to  be  excused. 

He  hurried  off,  and  Lord  Uxmoor 
felt  a  certain  relief. 

The  Master  of  Arts  asked  himself 
what  he  could  do  to  propitiate  the 
female  ^I.D.  He  went  to  the  gar- 
dener and  got  him  to  cut  a  huge  bou- 
quet, choice  and  fragrant,  and  he  car- 


A  WOMAN-HATEH. 


169 


ried  it  all  the  way  to  Ilillstoke.  Miss 
Gale  was  at  home.  As  he  was  in- 
troduced rather  suddenly,  she  started 
and  changed  color,  and  said,  sharply, 
' '  What  do  you  want  ?"  Never  asked 
him  to  sit  down,  rude  Thing ! 

He  stood  hanging  his  head  like 
a  culprit,  and  said,  with  well -feigned 
timidity,  that  he  came,  hy  desire  of 
]\Iiss  Vizard,  to  inquire  how  she  was 
getting  on,  and  to  hope  the  people 
were  beginning  to  appreciate  her. 

"Oh!  that  alters  the  case;  any 
messenger  from  filiss  Vizard  is  wel- 
come. Did  she  send  me  those  flow- 
ers too?     They  are  beautiful." 

"No.  I  gathered  them  myself.  I 
have  always  understood  ladies  loved 
flowers." 

"It  is  only  by  report  yon  know 
that,  eh  ?  Let  me  add  something  to 
your  information :  a  good  deal  de- 
pends on  the  giver ;  and  yon  may 
fling  these  out  of  the  window."  She 
tossed  them  to  him. 

The  Master  of  Arts  gave  an  hum- 
ble, patient  sigh,  and  tiirew  the  flow- 
ers out  of  the  window,  which  was 
open.  He  then  sunk  into  a  chair,  and 
hid  his  face  in  his  hands. 

Miss  Gale  colored,  and  bit  her  lip. 
She  did  not  think  he  would  have  dune 
that,  and  it  vexed  her  economical  soul. 
She  cast  a  piercing  glance  at  him, 
then  resumed  her  studies,  and  ignored 
his  presence. 

But  his  patietice  exiiausted  hers, 
lie  sat  there  twenty  minutes,  at  least, 
in  a  state  of  collapse  that  bid  fair  to 
last  forever. 

So  presently  she  looked  up,  and 
affected  to  start.  "What!  are  you 
there  still  ?"  said  she. 

"Yes,"  said  he;  "you  did  not  dis- 
miss me ;  only  my  poor  flowers." 

"Well,"  said  she,  apologetically, 
"the  truth  is,  I'm  not  strong  enough 
to  dismiss  you  by  the  same  road." 

"It  is  not  necessary.  You  have 
only  to  say,  '  Go. '  " 

"Oh,  tliat  would  be  rude.  Could 
not  you  go  without  being  told  right 
out?" 

8 


"No,  I  could  not.  Miss  Gale,  I 
can't  account  for  it,  but  there  is  some 
strange  attraction.  You  hate  me,  and 
I  fear  you,  yet  I  could  follow  you 
about  like  a  dog.  Let  me  sit  here  a 
little  longer  and  see  you  work." 

Miss  Gale  leaned  her  head  upon 
her  hand,  and  conteinplated  him  at 
great  length.  Finally  she  adopted  a 
cat-like  course.  "No,"  said  she,  at 
last;  "I  am  going  my  rounds:  you 
can  come  with  me,  if  I  am  so  attract- 
ive." 

He  said  he  should  be  proud,  and 
she  put  on  her  hat  in  thirty  seconds. 

Tliey  walked  together  in  silence. 
He  felt  as  if  he  were  promenading  a 
tiger-cat,  that  might  stop  any  mo- 
ment to  fall  upon  him. 

She  walked  him  into  a  cottage: 
there  was  a  little  dead  wood  burning 
on  that  portion  of  the  brick  floor  call- 
ed the  hearth.  A  pale  old  man  sat 
close  to  the  fire,  in  a  wooden  arm- 
chair. Slie  felt  his  pulse,  and  wrote 
him  a  prescription. 

"  To  Mr.  Vizard's  housekeeper,  Viz- 
ard Court : 

"  Please  give  the  bearer  two  pounds 
of  good  roast  beef,  or  mutton,  not  salt- 
ed, and  one  pint  port-wine. 

"EiiodaGale,  M.D." 

"  Here,  Jenny," she  said  to  a  sharp 
little  girl,  them;in's  grandniece,  "take 
this  down  to  Vizard  Court,  and  if 
the  housekeeper  objects,  go  to  the 
front-door  and  demand  in  my  name 
to  see  the  scjuire  or  Aliss  Vizard,  and 
give  them  the  paper.  Don't  you  give 
it  up  without  the  meat.  Take  this 
basket  on  your  arm." 

Then  she  walked  out  of  the  cottage, 
and  Severne  followed  her :  he  vent- 
lued  to  say  that  was  a  novel  prescrip- 
tion. 

She  explained.  "Physicians  are 
obliged  to  send  the  rich  to  the  chem- 
ist, or  else  the  fools  would  tliink  they 
were  slighted.  15ut  we  need  not  be 
so  nice  with  tlie  poor;  we  can  pre- 
scribe to  do  them  good.     When  you 


170 


A  WO.MAN-IIATER. 


iiiilicted  your  conipanv  on  me,  I  was 
.sketching  "I't  ^  treatise,  to  he  entitled, 
'  C^m-e  oi"l  )isor(lcrs  by  Esculents. '  Tiiat 
old  man  is  nearly  exsanguis.  There 
is  not  a  drug  in  creation  that  could 
do  him  an  atom  of  good.  Nourishing 
food  may.  If  not,  why,  he  is  booked 
for  the  long  journey.  AVell,  he  has 
had  his  innings,  lie  is  fourscore. 
Do  you  think  i/mi  will  ever  see  four- 
score— you  and  your  vices?" 

"Oh  no.  15ut  1  think  i/ou  will; 
and  I  ho]je  so  ;  for  you  go  about  do- 
ing good." 

"And  some  people  one  could  name 
go  about  doing  mischief?" 
Severne  made  no  reply. 
Soon  after  they  discovered  a  little 
group,  principally  women  and  chil- 
dren. These  were  inspecting  some- 
tinng  on  the  ground,  and  chattering 
excitedly.  The  words  of  dire  im])ort, 
"  She  have  possessed  him  with  a  dev- 
il,"struck  their  car.  But  soon  they 
caught  sight  of  Miss  Gale,  and  were 
dead  silent.  She  said,  "  What  is  the 
matter?  Oh,  I  see,  the  vermifuge  has 
acted." 

It  was  so:  a  putty-faced  boy  had 
been  unable  to  eat  his  breakfast ;  had 
sufl'ered  malaise  for  hours  afterward, 
and  at  last  had  been  seized  with  a  sort 
of  dry  retching,  and  had  restored  to 
the  world  they  so  adorn  a  ninnber  of 
amiiliibia,  which  now  wriggled  in  a 
heap,  and  no  doubt  bitterly  regretted 
the  reckless  impatience  with  whicii 
they  had  Hcd  from  an  unpleasant  med- 
icine to  a  cold-hearted  world. 

"Well,  good  jieople,"  said  Miss 
Gale,  "what  are  you  making  a  fuss 
about  ?  Are  they  better  in  the  boy  or 
out  of  him  ?  ' 

The  women  could  not  find  their  can- 
dor at  a  moment's  notice,  but  old  Giles 
replied,  heartily,  "Why,  bout!  better 
an  empty  house  than  a  bad  tenant." 

"  That  is  true,"  said  half  a  dozen 
voices  at  once.  'J'hey  could  resist 
commoTi  sense  in  its  liquiil^form,  but 
not  when  solidified  into  a  proverb. 

"Catch  me  the  boy,"  said  Miss 
Gale,  severely. 


Habitual  culpability  destroys  self- 
confidence  ;  so  the  boy  suspected  him- 
self of  crime,  and  instantly  took  to 
fiight.  His  companions  hjved  hunt- 
ing; so  three  swifter  boys  followed 
him  with  a  cheerful  yell,  secured  him, 
and  brought  him  up  for  sentence. 

"  Don't  be  frightened,  Jacob,"  said 
the  doctress.  "I  only  want  to  know 
whether  you  feel  better  or  worse." 

His  mother  jiut  in  her  word  :  "  He 
was  ever  so  bad  all  the  morning." 

"Hold  your  jaw,"  said  old  Giles, 
"and  let  the  boy  tell  his  own  tale." 

"Well,  then,"  said  Jacob,  "  I  was 
mortal  bad,  but  now  I  do  feel  like  a 
feather;  wust  on't  is,  I  be  so  blessed 
hungry  now.  Dall'd  if  I  couldn't  eat 
tiie  devil  —  stutled  with  thunder  and 
lightning." 

"I'll  prescribe  accordingly,"  said 
Miss  Gale,  and  wrote  in  pencil  an  or- 
der on  a  beefsteak-iiie  they  had  sent 
her  from  the  Court. 

Tlie  boy's  companions  put  their 
heads  together  over  this  order,  and  of- 
fered their  services  to  escort  him. 

"  No,  thank  you,"  said  the  doctress. 
"  He  will  go  alone,  you  young  monk- 
evs.  Your  turn  will  come." 
'  Then  she  jiroceeded  on  Jier  rounds, 
with  Mr.  Severne  at  her  heels,  until 
it  was  past  one  o'clock. 

'i'hcn  she  tinned  round  and  faced 
him.  "  We  will  part  here,"  said  she, 
"and  I  will  explain  my  conduct  to 
yon,  as  you  seem  in  the  dark.  I  have 
been  co-operating  with  Miss  Vizard 
all  this  time.  I  reckon  she  sent  you 
out  of  tlie  way  to  give  Lord  Uxnioor 
his  opportunity,  so  I  have  detained 
you.  While  you  have  been  studying 
"medicine,  be  has  been  ))opj)ing  the 
question,  of  course,  (iood  -  bye,  Mr. 
Villain." 

Her  words  went  through  tlie  man 
like  cold  steel.  It  was  one  woman 
reading  another.  He  turned  very 
white,  and  i)ut  his  hand  to  his  heart. 
I'.ut  he  recovered  himself,  and  said, 
"  If  she  jirefers  another  to  me,  I  must 
suljuiit.  It  is  not  my  absence  for  a 
few  hours  that  will  make  tlie  differ- 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


171 


ence.  You  can  not  make  me  regret 
the  hours  I  liave  passed  in  your  com- 
pany. Good-bye,"  and  he  seemed  to 
leave  her  very  reluctantly. 

"One  word,"  said  she,  softening  a 
little.  "I'm  not  proof  against  yoin- 
charm.  Unless  I  see  Zoe  Vizard  in 
danger,  you  have  nothing  to  fear  fioni 
me.     But  I  love  her,  you  understand." 

He  returned  to  her  directly,  and 
said,  in  most  earnest,  supplicating 
tones,  "But  will  you  ever  forgive 
me?" 

"I  will  try." 

And  so  they  parted. 

He  went  home  at  a  great  rate ;  for 
Miss  Gale's  insinuations  had  raised 
some  fear  in  liis  breast. 

Meantime  this  is  what  had  really 
passed  between  Zoe  and  Lord  Ux- 
moor.  Vizard  went  to  his  study,  and 
Fainiy  retired  at  a  signal  from  Zoe. 
yhe  rose,  but  did  not  go  ;  she  walked 
slowly  toward  the  window ;  Uxmoor 
joined  her :  for  he  saw  he  was  to  have 
his  answer  from  her  mouth. 

Her  bosom  heaved  a  little,  and  her 
cheeks  flushed.  "Lord  Uxmoor,"  slie 
said,  "you  have  done  me  the  great- 
est honor  any  man  can  pay  a  woman, 
and  from  you  it  is  indeed  an  honor. 
I  could  not  write  sucli  an  answer  as 
I  could  wish  ;  and,  besides,  1  wish  to 
si)areyou  all  the  mortification  lean." 

"Ail  I"  said  Uxmoor,  piteously. 

"  You  are  worthy  of  any  lady's  love : 
but  I  have  only  my  esteem  to  give  you, 
and  that  was  given  long  ago." 

Uxmoor,  who  had  been  gradually 
tiwning  very  white,  faltered,  "I  hud 
my  fears.     Good-bye."' 

She  gave  him  her  hand.  He  jnit  it 
respectfully  to  his  lips :  then  turned 
and  left  her,  sick  at  heart,  Imt  too 
brave  to  let  it  be  seen.  He  jireferred 
her  esteem  to  her  ]iity. 

15y  this  means  he  got  both.  She 
put  her  handkerchief  to  her  eyes  with- 
out disguise.  But  he  only  turned  at 
the  door  to  saj%  in  a  pretty  firm  voice, 
"God  bless  you!" 

In  less  than  an  hour  he  drove  his 
team   from    the    door,  sitting   heart- 


broken and  desolate,  but  firm  and  un- 
flinching as  a  rock. 

So  then,  on  his  return  from  Hill- 
stoke,  Severne  found  them  all  at 
luncheon  except  Uxmoor.  He  de- 
tailed his  visit  to  Miss  Gale,  and, 
wiiile  he  talked,  observed.  Zoe  was 
beaming  with  love  and  kindness.  He 
felt  sure  she  liad  not  deceived  him. 
He  learned,  by  merely  listening,  that 
Lord  Uxmoor  was  gone,  and  he  ex- 
ulted inwardly. 

After  luncheon,  Elysium.  He  walk- 
ed with  the  two  girls,  and  Fanny  lag- 
ged behind ;  and  Zoe  proved  herself 
no  coquette.  A  coquette  would  have 
been  a  little  cross,  and  shown  him  she 
had  made  a  sacrifice.  Not  so  Zoe 
Vizard.  She  never  told  him,  nor 
even  Fanny,  she  had  refused  Lord 
Uxmoor.  She  esteemed  the  great  sac- 
rifice she  had  made  for  him  as  a  little 
one,  and  so  loved  him  a  little  more 
that  he  had  cost  her  an  earl's  coronet 
and  a  large  fortune. 

The  party  resimied  their  habits  that 
Uxmoor  had  interrupted,  and  no 
warning  voice  was  raised. 

Tlie  boring  commenced  at  Hill- 
stoke,  and  Doctress  Gale  hovered  over 
the  work.  The  various  strata  and 
their  fossil  deposits  were  an  endless 
study,  and  ke])t  lier  microscope  em- 
))loyed.  With  this,  and  her  treatise 
on  "  Cure  by  Esculents,"  she  was  so 
employed  that  she  did  not  visit  the 
Court  for  some  days  :  then  came  an 
invitation  from  Lord  Uxmoor  to  stay 
a  week  with  him,  and  insi)ect  his  vil- 
lage. She  accepted  it,  and  drove  her- 
.sclf  in  the  bailitf  "s  gig,  all  alone,  .she 
found  her  host  attending  to  his  duties, 
but  dejected ;  so  then  she  suspected, 
and  turned  the  conversation  to  Zoe 
Vizard,  and  soon  satisfied  herself  he 
had  no  hopes  in  that  ([iiarter.  Yet 
he  spoke  of  her  with  undisguised  and 
tender  admiration.  Then  she  said  to 
herself,  "This  is  a  man,  and  he  shall 
have  her." 

She  sat  down  and  wrote  a  letter  to 
Vizard,  telling  him  all  she  knew,  and 
what  she  thought,  viz.,  that  another 


172 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


woman,  and  a  respcctalilc  one,  had  a 
claim  on  ]\Ir.  ISeverne,  nliich  ouylit  to 
be  closely  iiKiiiired  into,  and  the  ladifs 
version  heard.  "Think  of  it, "said 
slie.  "He  disowned  the  woman  wlio 
had  saved  his  life,  he  was  so  afraid 
I  should  tell  Miss  Vizard  under  what 
circumstances  I  first  saw  him." 

.She  folded  and  addressed  the  letter. 

But  having  relieved  her  mind  in 
some  dej;rec  by  this,  she  asked  her- 
self whether  it  would  not  be  kinder  to 
all  parties  to  try  and  save  Zee  without 
an  e.xposure.  I'robahly  Severne  ben- 
efited by  his  grace  and  his  disarming 
qualities  ;  for  her  ultimate  resolution 
was  to  give  him  a  chance,  ofier  him 
an  alternative :  he  must  either  quietly 
retire,  or  be  openly  exposed. 

So  then  she  put  the  letter  in  her 
desk,  made  out  her  visit,  of  which  no 
further  particulars  can  be  given  at 
present,  vetiu'ned  home,  and  walked 
down  to  the  Court  next  morning  to 
have  it  out  with  Edward  Severne. 

But,  unfortunately,  from  the  very 
day  she  oflered  him  terms  up  at  Hill- 
stoke,  the  tide  began  to  run  in  Sev- 
erne's  favor  with  great  rajjidity. 

A  letter  came  from  the  detective. 
Severne  received  it  at  breakfast,  and 
laid  it  before  Zoe,  which  had  a  favor- 
able efiect  on  her  mind  to  begin. 

I'oikilus  reported  that  the  money 
was  in  good  hands.  He  had  seen  the 
lady.  She  made  no  secret  of  the 
thing — the  sum  was  £4900,  and  she 
said  half  belonged  to  her  and  half  to 
a  gentleman.  She  did  not  know 
him,  but  her  agent,  Ashmead,  did. 
Poikihis  added  that  he  had  asked  her 
would  she  honor  that  gentleman's 
draft  ?  She  had  replied  she  siiould  be 
afraid  to  do  that ;  but  Mr.  Ashmead 
should  hand  it  to  him  on  demand. 
Poikihis  summed  up  that  the  lady  was 
evidently  resj)ectable,  and  the  whole 
thing  square. 

Severne  posted  this  letter  to  his 
cousin,  under  cover,  to  show  him  he 
was  really  going  to  clear  his  estate, 
but  begged  him  to  return  it  immedi- 


ately and  lend  him  .£r>0.  The  accom- 
modating cousin  sent  him  £.10,  to  aid 
him  in  wooing  his  heiress.  He  bought 
her  a  hoop  ring,  apologized  for  its 
small  value,  and  expressed  his  regret 
that  all  he  could  otter  her  was  on  as 
small  a  scale,  except  his  love. 

She  blushed,  and  smiled  on  him, 
like  heaven  oj)euing.  "Small  and 
great,  I  take  them,"  said  she;  and 
her  lovely  head  rested  on  his  shoulder. 

They  were  engaged. 

From  that  hour  lie  could  command 
a  tete-a-tcte  with  her  whenever  he 
chose,  and  his  infernal  ])assion  began 
to  suggest  all  manner  of  wild,  wicked, 
and  unreasonable  hopes. 

Meantime  there  was  no  stopping. 
He  soon  found  he  must  speak  serious- 
ly to  Vizard.  He  went  into  his  study 
and  began  to  open  the  subject.  A'iz- 
ard  stopped  him.  "Fetch  the  other 
culprit,"  said  he ;  and  when  Zoe  came, 
blushing,  he  said,  "Now  I  am  going 
to  make  shorter  work  of  this  than  you 
have  done.  Zoe  has  ten  thousand 
pounds.     What  have  you  got?" 

"Only  a  small  estate,  worth  eight 
thousand  jiounds,  that  I  hope  to  clear 
of  all  incumbrances,  if  I  can  get  my 
money." 

' '  Fond  of  each  other  ?  Well,  don't 
strike  me  dead  with  your  eyes.  I 
iiave  watched  you,  and  I  own  a  pret- 
tier pair  of  turtle-doves  I  never  saw. 
Well,  you  have  got  love  and  I  have 
got  money.  I'll  take  care  of  you  both. 
But  you  must  live  with  me.  I  prom- 
ise never  to  marry." 

This  brought  Zoe  round  his  neck, 
witli  tears  and  kisses  of  pure  affection. 
He  returned  them,  and  jiarted  her  hair 
paternally. 

"This  is  a  beautiful  world,  isn't 
it?"'  said  he,  with  more  tenderness 
than  cynicism  this  time. 

"Ah,  that  it  is!"  cried  Zoe,  ear- 
nestly. "But  I  can't  have  you  say 
you  will  never  be  as  happy  as  I  am. 
There  are  true  hearts  in  this  heavenly 
world  ;  for  I  have  found  one." 

"  I  have  tiot,  and  don't  mean  to 
try  again.     I  am   going  in   for   the 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


173 


paternal  now.  You  two  are  my  chil- 
dren. I  have  a  talisman  to  keep  nic 
from  marrying.  I'll  show  it  you." 
He  drew  a  jjiiotograph  from  his  draw- 
er, set  round  with  gold  and  pearls. 
He  showed  it  tiiem  suddenly.  They 
both  started.  A  fine  photograph  of 
Ina  Klosking.  She  was  dressed  as 
plainly  as  at  the  gambling- table,  but 
without  a  bonnet,  and  only  one  rose 
in  lier  hair.  Her  noble  forehead  was 
shown,  and  her  face,  a  model  of  intel- 
ligence, womanliness,  and  serene  dig- 
nity. 

He  gazed  at  it,  and  they  at  him 
and  it. 

He  kissed  it.  "  Here  is  my  Fate," 
said  he.  "  Now  mark  the  ingenuity 
of  a  parent.  I  keep  out  of  my  Fate's 
way.  But  I  use  her  to  keep  oft'  any 
otlier  little  Fates  that  may  be  about. 
No  other  humbug  can  ever  catch  me 
while  I  have  sucii  a  noble  humbug  as 
this  to  contemplate.  Ah !  and  here 
she  is  as  Siebel.  What  a  goddess! 
Just  look  at  her.  Adorable !  Tliere, 
this  sliall  stand  upon  my  table,  and 
the  other  siiall  be  hung  in  my  bed- 
room. Tiien,  my  dear  Zoe,  you  will 
be  safe  from  a  step-mother.  For  I 
am  your  father  now.  Please  uuder- 
staiul  that." 

This  brought  poor  Zoe  round  his 
neck  again  with  such  an  cft'usion  that 
at  last  he  handed  her  to  Severne,  and 
he  led  her  from  the  room,  quite  over- 
come, and,  to  avoid  all  conversation 
about  what  had  just  passed,  gave  her 
over  to  Fanny,  while  he  retired  to 
compose  himself. 

I5y  dinner-time  he  was  as  happy 
as  a  prince  again,  and  relieved  of  all 
comi)unction. 

lie  heard  afterward  from  Fanny 
that  Zoe  and  she  had  discussed  the 
incident  and  Vizard's  infatuation, 
Fanny  being  especially  wroth  at  Viz- 
ard's abuse  of  pearls ;  but  she  told 
liim  she  had  advised  Zoe  not  to  men- 
tion that  lady's  name,  but  let  her  die 
out. 

And,  in  point  of  fact,  Zoe  did  avoid 
the  subject. 


There  came  an  eventful  day.  Viz- 
ard got  a  letter,  at  breakfast,  from  his 
bankers,  that  made  him  stare,  and 
then  knit  his  brows.  It  was  about 
Edward  Severne's  acceptances.  He 
said  nothing,  but  ordered  his  horse 
and  rode  into  Taddington. 

The  day  was  keen  but  sunny,  and, 
seeing  him  afoot  so  early,  Zoe  said 
she  should  like  a  drive  before  lunch- 
eon. She  would  show  Severne  and 
Fanny  some  ruins  on  Pagnell  Hill. 
They  could  leave  the  trap  at  the  vil- 
lage inn  and  walk  up  the  hill.  Fan- 
ny begged  oft",  and  Severne  was  very 
glad.  The  prospect  of  a  long  walk 
up  a  hill  with  Zoe,  and  then  a  day 
spent  in  utter  seclusion  with  her,  fired 
his  imagination  and  made  his  heart 
beat.  Here  was  one  of  the  opportu- 
nities he  had  long  sighed  for  of  mak- 
ing passionate  love  to  innocence  and 
ine.xperience. 

Zoe  herself  was  eager  for  the  drive, 
and  came  down,  followed  by  Kosa 
with  some  wraps,  and  waited  in  the 
morning -room  for  the  dog-cart.  It 
was  behind  time  for  once,  because  the 
careful  coachman  had  insisted  on  the 
axle  being  oiled.  At  last  the  sound 
of  wheels  was  heard.  A  carriage 
drew  up  at  the  door. 

"Tell  Mr.  Severne,"  said  Zoe. 
"He  is  in  the  dining-room,  I  think." 

IJut  it  was  not  the  dog-cart. 

A  vigilant  footman  came  hastily 
out  and  opened  the  hall  door.  A 
lady  was  en  the  stejjs,  and  spoke  to 
him,  but,  in  speaking,  she  caught 
sight  of  Zoe  in  the  hall.  She  instant- 
ly slipped  ])ass  the  man  and  stood 
within  the  great  door. 

"  INIiss  Vizard  ?"  said  she. 

Zoe  took  a  step  toward  her  and 
said,  with  astonishment,  "Jlademoi- 
selle  Klosking!" 

'J'he  ladies  looked  at  eacli  other, 
and  Zoe  saw  something  strange  was 
coming,  for  the  Klosking  was  very 
pale,  yet  firm,  and  fixed  her  eyes  \ipon 
her  as  if  there  was  nothing  else  in 
sight. 

' '  You  have  a  visitor — Mr.  Severne  ?" 


174 


A  WOMAN-IIA'IKR. 


"  Yes,"  said  Zoe,  drawing  up. 

"Can  I  speak  with  liiin  ?" 

"He  will  answer  for  himself.  Ed- 
ward!" 

At  her  call  Severne  came  out  hasti- 
ly behind  Iiia  Klosking. 

She  turned,  a:id  they  faced  eacli 
other. 

"Ah!"  she  cried;  and  in  spite  of 
all,  tlieie  was  more  of  joy  than  any 
otiier  passion  in  the  exclamation. 

Not  so  he.  lie  uttered  a  scream 
of  dismay,  and  sta<;gered,  while  as  a 
ghost,  but  still  glared  at  Ina  Klosking. 

Zoe's  voice  fell  on  him  like  a  clap 
of  thunder :  "What !  —  Edward  !  — 
Mr.  Severne ! — Has  this  lady  still  anv 
right—" 

"No,  none  whatever!"  lie  cried; 
"  it  is  all  past  and  gone." 

"What  is  past?"  said  Ina  Klos- 
king, grandly.  "Are  you  out  of  .your 
senses  ?" 

Then  she  was  close  to  him  in  a  mo- 
ment, by  one  grand  movement,  and 
took  him  by  both  lapels  of  his  coat, 
and  held  him  firmly.  "Sjieak  before 
this  lady,"  she  cried.  "  Have — I — no 
— rights — over  you  ?"  and  iier  voice 
was  majestic,  and  her  Danish  eyes 
gleamed  lightning. 

The  wretch's  knees  gave  way  a  mo- 
ment, and  he  shook  in  her  hands. 
Then,  suddenly,  he  turned  wild. 
"Fiend!  you  have  ruined  me!"  he 
yelled ;  and  then,  witli  his  natural 
stiength,  which  was  great,  and  the 
superhuman  i)owcr  of  mad  excite- 
ment, be  wliiried  her  riglit  round  and 
flung  her  from  him,  and  daslied  out 
of  the  door,  uttering  cries  of  rage  and 
despair. 

The  unfortunate  lady,  tlius  taken 
by  surprise,  fell  heavily,  iuid,  by  cruel 
ill  luck,  struck  her  temple,  in  falling, 
against  the  shai])  corner  of  a  marl)le 
table.  It  gashed  her  forehead  fear- 
fully, and  she  lay  senseless,  with  the 
blood  spurting  in  jets  fi-om  her  white 
temple. 

Zoe  screamed  violently,  and  tlie  hall 
and  the  hall  staircase  seemed  to  fill  I 
by  magic. 


In  the  terror  and  confusion,  Har- 
rington Vizard  strode  into  the  hail, 
from  Taddington.  "What  is  the 
matter  ■('"he  cried.  "A  woman  kill- 
ed?" 

Sume  one  cried  out  she  had  fallen. 

"Water,  fools  —  a  sponge  —  don't 
stand  gaping!"  and  he  Hung  himself 
on  bis  knees,  and  raised  the  woman's 
head  from  the  floor.  One  eager  look 
into  her  white  face — one  wild  cry — 
"Great  God!  it  is—"  He  had  rec- 
ognized her. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

It  was  piteous  to  see  and  hear. 
The  blood  would  not  stop  ;  it  spint- 
ed  no  longer,  but  it  flowed  alarming- 
ly. Vizard  sent  Harris  oft"  in  bis 
own  fly  for  a  doctor,  to  save  time. 
He  called  for  ice.  lie  cried  out  in 
agony  to  his  servants,  "Can  none  of 
you  think  of  any  thing?  There — 
that  hat.  Here,  you  women ;  tear 
me  the  nap  oft"  with  your  fingers. 
INIy  God !  what  is  to  be  done  ?  She'll 
bleed  to  death !  And  he  held  her  to 
bis  breast,  and  almost  moaned  with 
pity  over  her,  as  be  pressed  the  cold 
sponge  to  her  woimd — in  vain ;  for 
still  the  red  blood  would  flow. 

Wheels  ground  the  gravel.  Serv- 
ants flew  to  the  door,  crying,  "The 
doctor !  the  doctor!" 

As  if  he  could  have  been  fetched 
in  five  minutes  from  three  miles  ofl". 

Yet  it  was  a  doctor.  Hanis  bad 
met  Miss  Gale  walking  fpiietly  down 
from  llillstoke.  He  had  told  her  in 
a  few  hmried  words,  and  brought  her 
as  fast  as  the  horses  coidd  go. 

She  glided  in  swiftly,  keen,  but 
self-possessed,  and  took  it  all  in  di- 
rectly. 

Vizard  saw  her,  and  cried,  "Ah! 
Help  I — she  is  bleeding  to  death  !'' 

"She  shall  not,"  said  Klioda. 
Then  to  one  footman,  "Bring  a  foot- 
stool, .yo?/ ,-"  to  another,  "  y'o?<  bring 
me  a  cork;"   to  V^izard,  '^You  hold 


A  WOMAN-IIATEK. 


175 


lier  toward  me  so.     Now  sponge  tlie 
woniid." 

Tliis  done,  slie  pinched  tlie  lips  of 
tlie  wound  together  with  her  neat, 
strong  fingers.  "See  wliat  I  do," 
she  said  to  Vizard.  "You  will  have 
to  do  it,  while  I —  Ah,  the  stool ! 
Now  lay  her  head  on  that ;  the  other 
side,  man.  Now,  sir,  compress  the 
wound  as  I  did,  vigorously.  Hold 
the  cork,  you,  till  I  want  it." 

Slie  took  out  of  her  pocket  some 
adhesive  plaster,  and  flakes  of  some 
strong  styptic,  and  a  piece  of  elastic. 
'"Now,"  said  she  to  Vizard,  "give 
me  a  little  opening  in  the  middle  to 
])laster  these  strips  across  tlie  \vound." 
He  did  so.  Then  in  a  moment  she 
passed  the  elastic  under  the  sufferer's 
head,  drew  it  over  with  the  styptic 
between  her  finger  and  thumb,  and 
O'ack !  the  styptic  was  tight  on  the 
compressed  wound.  She  forced  in 
more  styptic,  increasing  the  pressure, 
then  she  whipped  out  a  sort  of  sui'gic- 
al  housewife,  and  with  some  cutting 
instrument  i-educed  the  cork,  then 
cut  it  convex,  and  fastened  it  on  the 
styptic  hy  another  elastic.  There 
was  no  flutter,  yet  it  was  all  done  in 
fifty  seconds. 

"There,"  said  she,  "  she  will  hleed 
no  more,  to  speak  of.  Now  seat  her 
upright.  Why !  I  have  seen  her  bc- 
f(M'e.  This  is — sir,  jou  can  send  the 
men  away." 

"Yes;  and,  Harris,  pack  up  Mr. 
Severne's  things,  and  bring  them 
down  Iierc  this  moment." 

'i'he  male  servants  retired,  the 
women  liei<l  aloof.  Fanny  Dover 
came  forward,  ])ale  and  trembling, 
and  helped  to  place  Ina  Klosking  in 
the  hall  porter's  chair.  She  was  in- 
sensible still,  but  moaned  faintly. 

Her  moans  were  echoed :  all  eyes 
turned.  It  was  Zoc,  seated  a])art,  all 
bowed  and  l)roken — ghastly  pale,  and 
glaring  straight  before  lier. 

"Poor  girl !"  said  Vizard.  "  Wc 
forgot  her.  It  is  her  heart  that  bleeds. 
AVhere  is  the  scoundrel,  tliat  I  may 
kill  him  ?"  and  he  rushed  out  at  the 


door  to  look  for  him.  The  man's  life 
would  not  have  been  worth  much  if 
Squire  Vizard  could  have  found  him 
then. 

15iit  he  soon  came  back  to  his  wretch- 
ed home,  and  eyed  tiie  dismal  scene, 
and  the  havoc  one  man  had  made — ■ 
the  marble  floor  all  stained  with  blood 
— Ina  Klosking  supported  in  a  chair, 
white,  and  faintly  moaning — Zoe  still 
crushed  and  glaring  at  vacancy,  and 
Fanny  sobbing  round  her  with  pity 
and  terror ;  for  she  knew  there  must 
be  worse  to  come  than  this  wild  stu- 
por. 

"Take  her  to  her  room,  Fanny 
dear,"  said  Vizard,  in  a  hurried,  fal- 
tering voice,  "and  don't  leave  her. 
Rosa,  help  Miss  Dover.  Do  not  leave 
her  alone,  night  nor  day."  Tiien  to 
Miss  Gale,  "She  will  live ?  Tell  me 
she  will  live." 

"I  hope  so,"  said  Rhoda  Gale. 
"Oh,  the  blow  will  not  kill  her,  nor 
yet  the  loss  of  blood.  But  I  fear 
there  will  be  distress  of  mind  added 
to  the  bodily  shock.  And  such  a  no- 
ble face !  My  own  heart  bleeds  for 
her.  Uh,  sir,  do  not  send  her  away 
to  strangers  !  Let  me  take  her  up  to 
the  farm.  It  is  nursing  she  will  need, 
and  tact,  when  she  comes  to  herself." 

"Send  her  away  to  strangers!" 
cried  Vizard.  "Never!  No.  Not 
even  to  the  farm.  Here  she  leceived 
her  wound  ;  here  all  that  you  and 
I  can  do  shall  be  done  to  save  her. 
Ah,  here's  Harris,  with  the  villain's 
things.  Got  the  lady's  boxes  out, 
and  i)ut  Mr.  Severne's  into  the  fly. 
(live  the  man  two  guineas,  and  let 
him  leave  them  at  the  'Swan,'  in 
Taddington." 

He  then  beckoned  down  the  wom- 
en, and  had  Ina  Klosking  carried  nj)- 
stairs  to  the  very  room  Sevcrne  had 
occupied. 

He  then  convened  the  servants, 
and  i)laced  them  formally  under  Aliss 
Gale's  orders,  and  one  female  servant 
having  made  a  remark,  he  tm-ned  her 
out  of  the  house,  neck  and  crop,  direct- 
Iv  witii  her  month's  wages.    The  otii- 


17G 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


CIS  liad  to  help  her  pack,  only  half  an 
jioiir  being  allowed  for  her  exit. 

The  house  seemed  all  changed. 
Could  this  be  Vizard  Court?  Dead 
gloom — hurried  \vhis])ers — and  every 
body  walking  softly,  and  scared  — 
none  knowing  what  might  be  the 
next  calamity. 

Vizard  felt  sick  at  heart  and  help- 
less. He  had  done  all  he  could,  and 
was  reduced  to  that  condition  women 
bear  far  better  than  men — he  must 
wait,  and  hoiie,  and  fear.  He  walk- 
ed up  and  down  the  carpeted  land- 
ing, racked  with  anxiety. 

At  last  there  came  a  single  scream 
of  agony  from  Ina  Klosking's  room. 

It  made  the  strong  man  ((uake. 

He  tapi)ed  softly  at  the  door. 

Khoda  opened  it. 

"What  is  it?"  he  faltered. 

She  replied,  gravely,  "Only  what 
must  be.  She  is  beginning  to  realize 
what  has  befallen  her.  Don't  come 
here.  You  can  do  no  good.  I  will 
run  down  to  you  whenever  I  dare. 
Give  me  a  nurse  to  help,  this  first 
night." 

He  went  down  and  sent  into  the 
village  for  a  woman  who  bore  a  great 
name  for  nursing.  Then  he  wander- 
ed about  disconsolate. 

Tlie  leaden  hours  passed.  He  went 
to  dress,  and  discovered  Ina  Klos- 
king's blood  upon  his  clothes.  It 
shocked  him  first,  and  then  it  melted 
him  :  he  felt  an  incx]>ressible  tender- 
ness at  sight  of  it.  Tiie  blood  that 
had  flowed  in  her  veins  seemed  sacred 
to  him.  He  folded  that  suit,  and  tied 
it  up  in  a  silk  handkerchief,  and  lock- 
ed it  awaj'. 

In  due  course  he  sat  down  to  din- 
ner— we  are  all  sucli  creatures  of  hab- 
it. There  was  every  thing  as  usiud, 
exce])t  tiie  familiar  faces.  There  was 
the  glittering  jdatc  on  the  polished 
sideboard,  the  ])yramid  of  flowers  sur- 
rounded witli  fruits.  'J'here  were 
even  chairs  at  the  table,  for  tlie  serv- 
ants did  not  know  he  was  to  be  rjuite 
alone.  But  he  was.  One  delicate 
dish  after  another  was  brought  him, 


and  sent  away  nntasted.  Soon  after 
dinner  Khoda  Gale  came  down  and 
told  him  her  patient  was  in  a  preca- 
rious condition,  and  she  feared  fever 
and  delirium.  Siie  begged  him  to 
send  one  servant  uj)  to  the  farm  fur 
certain  medicaments  she  had  there, 
and  another  to  the  chemist  at  Tad- 
dington.  These  were  dispatched  on 
swift  horses,  and  both  were  back  in 
half  an  hour. 

Ky-and-by  Fanny  Dover  came  down 
to  him,  witii  red  eyes,  and  brought 
him  Zoe's  love.  "I3ut,"said  she, 
"don't  ask  her  to  come  down.  She 
is  ashamed  to  look  any  body  in  the 
face,  jioor  girl." 

"Why  ?  wiiat  1ms  she  done  ?" 

"  Oil,  Harrington,  she  has  made  no 
seciet  of  iier  affection  ;  and  now,  at 
sight  of  that  woman,  he  has  abandon- 
ed her." 

"Tell  her  I  love  her  more  than 
I  ever  did,  and  respect  her  more. 
Where  is  her  pride?" 

"Pride!  she  is  full  of  it;  and  it 
will  help  her — by-and-by.  IJut  she 
has  a  bitter  time  to  go  through  first. 
You  don't  know  how  she  loves  him." 

"What!  love  hinr  still,  after  what 
he  has  done  ?" 

"Yes!  She  interprets  it  this  way 
and  that.  She  can  not  bear  to  believe 
another  woman  has  any  real  right  to 
separate  them." 

"Separate  them!  The  scoundrel 
knocked  Iter  down  for  loving  him 
still,  and  fled  from  them  both.  Was 
ever  guilt  more  clear?  If  she  doubts 
that  he  is  a  villain,  tell  her  from  me 
he  is  a  forger,  and  has  given  me  bills 
with  false  names  on  them.  Tiie  bank- 
ers gave  me  notice  to-day,  and  I  was 
coming  home  to  order  him  out  of  the 
house  when  this  miserable  business 
happened." 

"A  forger!  is  it  possible ?"  said 
Fanny.  "  But  it  is  no  use  my  telling 
her  that  soit  of  thing.  If  he  had 
committed  murder,  and  was  true  to 
her,  she  would  cling  to  him.  She 
never  knew  till  n(jw  how  she  loved 
iiim,  nor  I  neither.     Siie  jiut  him  in 


( 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


177 


Coventry  for  telling  a  lie  ;  but  she 
was  far  more  unhappy  all  the  time 
than  he  was.  Tliere  is  nothing  to  do 
but  to  be  kind  to  her,  and  let  her  hide 
her  face.     Don't  hurry  her." 

"Not  I.  God  help  her!  If  she 
has  a  wisli,  it  shall  be  gratified.  I 
am  powerless,  t^he  is  young.  Sure- 
ly time  will  cure  her  of  a  villain,  now 
lie  is  detected." 

Fanny  said  she  hoped  so. 

The  truth  is,  Zoo  had  not  opened 
her  heart  to  Fanny.  She  clung  to 
her,  and  writlied  in  her  arms ;  but 
slie  spoke  little,  and  one  broken  sen- 
tence contradicted  tlie  other.  But 
mental  agony,  like  bodily,  finds  its 
vent,  not  in  speech,  the  brain's  great 
interpreter,  but  in  inarticulate  cries, 
and  moans,  and  siglis,  tiiat  prove  us 
animals  even  in  tiie  tliroes  of  mind. 
Zoe  was  in  that  cruel  stage  of  suffer- 
ing. 

So  passed  that  miserable  day. 


ciiArTER  xxr. 

Ina  Klosking  recovered  her  senses 
that  evening,  and  asked  Miss  Gale 
where  she  was.  Miss  Gale  told  her 
she  was  in  tlie  house  of  a  friend. 

"What  friend?' 

"Tiiat,"said  Miss  Gale,  "I  will 
tell  you  by-and-l)y.  You  are  in  good 
hands,  and  I  am  your  pliysician." 

"I  have  heard  yom-  voice  before," 
said  Ina,  "but  I  know  not  where; 
and  it  is  so  dark !  Why  is  it  so 
dark  ?" 

"  IJecauso  too  much  light  is  not 
good  for  you.  You  have  met  with  an 
accident." 

"What  accident,  madam  ?" 

"You  fell  and  huit  your  i)oor  fore- 
head. See,  I  have  bamlaged  it,  and 
now  you  must  let  me  wet  the  band- 
age— to  keep  your  brow  cool." 

"Thank  you,  madam,"  said   Ina, 

in  her  own  sweet  l)ut  <|ucenly  way. 

"  You  are  very  good  to  me.     I  wish 

I  could  see  your  face  more  clearlv. 

8* 


I  know  your  voice."  Then,  after  a 
silence,  during  which  Miss  Gale  eyed 
her  with  anxiety,  she  said,  like  one 
groping  her  way  to  the  trutli,  "I — 
fell  —  and  —  hurt  — mv  forehead  ?  — 
Ah!" 

Tiien  it  was  she  uttered  the  cry 
that  made  Vizard  quake  at  the  door, 
and  sliook  for  a  moment  even  Kho- 
da's  nerves,  though,  as  a  rule,  they 
were  iron  in  a  situation  of  this  kind. 

It  had  all  come  back  to  Ina  Klos- 
king. 

After  that  piteous  cry  she  never 
said  a  word.  She  did  nothing  but 
tiiiidi,  and  put  her  hand  to  her  head. 

And  soon  after  midnight  she  began 
to  talk  incoherently. 

The  physician  could  only  proceed 
by  physical  means.  She  attacked  tiie 
coming  fever  at  once,  with  the  reme- 
dies of  the  day,  and  also  with  an  in- 
fusion of  monk's -hood.  That  poi- 
son, promptly  administered,  did  not 
deceive  her.  Siie  obtained  a  slight 
perspiration,  wliictli  was  so  much  gain- 
ed in  the  battle. 

In  the  morning  she  got  the  patient 
sliifted  into  another  bed,  and  she  slept 
a  little  after  that.  But  soon  she  was 
awake,  restless,  and  raving  :  still  her 
character  pervaded  her  delirium.  No 
violence.  Nothing  any  sore  injured 
woman  need  be  asiiamed  to  have 
said:  only  it  was  all  disconnected. 
One  moment  she  was  speaking  to  the 
leader  of  the  orchestra,  at  another  to 
Mr.  Ashmead,  at  another,  with  divine 
tenderness,  to  her  still  faithful  Sev- 
erne.  And  though  not  hurried,  as 
usual  in  tliese  cases,  it  was  almost 
incessant  and  pitiable  to  hear,  each 
observation  was  so  wise  and  good  ; 
yet,  all  being  disconnected,  the  iicarer 
could  not  but  feel  tiiat  a  noble  mind 
lay  before  him,  overthrown  and  broken 
into  fragments  like  some  Attic  col- 
unm. 

In  the  middle  of  tliis  the  handle 
was  softly  turned,  and  Zoe  Vizard 
came  in,  jiale  and  sombre. 

Long  before  this,  she  had  said  to 
Fanny,  several  times,  "I  ought  to  go 


178 


A  WOMAN-IIATEH. 


and  see  her;"  and  Fanny  had  said, 
"  Of  course  you  ought." 

So  now  she  came.  Slie  folded  her 
arms  and  stood  at  the  foot  of  the  hed, 
and  looked  at  her  unhappy  rival,  un- 
happy as  i)ossihle  herself. 

What  contrary  feelings  fought  in 
that  young  breast!  I'ity  and  hatred. 
JShe  must  hate  the  rival  who  had  come 
between  her  and  him  she  loved  ;  she 
must  i)ity  the  woman  who  lay  there, 
pale,  wounded,  and  little  likely  to  re- 
cover. 

And,  with  all  this,  a  great  desire  to 
know  whether  this  sulierer  had  any 
riglit  to  come  and  seize  Edwaid  Sev- 
erne  by  the  arm,  and  so  draw  down 
calamity  on  both  the  women  who 
loved  him. 

She  looked  and  listened,  and  Rho- 
da  Gale  thought  it  hard  upon  her  pa- 
tient. 

But  it  was  not  in  human  nature  the 
girl  should  do  otherwise ;  so  Khoda 
said  nothing. 

What  fell  from  Ina's  lips  was  not  ot 
a  kind  to  make  Zoe  more  her  friend. 

Her  mind  seemed  now  like  a  bird 
tied  by  a  long  silken  thread.  It  made 
large  excursions,  but  constantly  came 
back  to  her  love.  Sometimes  that 
love  was  happy,  sometimes  unhappy. 
Often  she  said  "Edward!"  in  the  ex- 
quisite tone  of  a  loving  woman  ;  and 
whenever  she  tlid,  Zoe  received  it  witli 
a  sort  of  shiver,  as  if  a  dagger,  fine 
as  a  needle,  had  passed  through  her 
whole  body. 

At  last,  after  telling  some  tenor 
that  he  had  sung  F  natural  instead 
of  F  sliarp,  and  ]iraised  somebody's 
rendering  ofa  song  in  "  II  Flaino  i\ia- 
gico,"  and  told  Asliinead  to  make  no 
more  engagements  for  her  at  ])resent, 
for  she  was  going  to  Vizard  Court, 
the  poor  soul  paused  a  minute,  and 
littered  a  deep  moan. 

^''Struck  down  l>i/  the  very  hand 
that  iras  vowed  to  protect  me .''  said 
she.  Then  was  silent  again.  Then 
began  to  cry,  and  sob,  and  wring  her 
hands. 

Zoe  put  her  hand  to  her  heart,  and 


moved  feebly  toward  the  door.  How- 
ever, she  stopi)ed  a  moment  to  say, 
"I  am  no  use  here.  You  would  soon 
have  me  raving  in  the  next  bed.  I 
will  send  Fanny."  Then  she  drew 
herself  up.  "  Miss  Gale,  every  body 
here  is  at  your  command.  Pray 
spare  nothing  you  can  think  of  to 
save — my  brother's  (juest." 

There  came  out  tiie  bitter  drop. 

When  she  had  said  that,  she  stalk- 
ed from  the  room  like  some  red  In- 
dian bearing  a  mortal  arrow  in  him, 
but  too  j)roud  to  show  it. 

But  when  she  got  to  her  own  room 
she  (hiiig  herself  on  her  sofa,  and 
wriilieil  and  sobbed  in  agony. 

Fanny  Dover  came  in  and  found 
her  so,  and  flew  to  her. 

But  she  ordered  her  out  quite  wild- 
ly. "  No,  no;  go  to  her,  like  all  the 
rest,  and  leave  poor  Zoe  all  alone. 
She  is  alone." 

Then  Fanny  clung  to  her,  and  tried 
hard  to  comfoit  her. 

This  yoinig  lady  now  became  very 
zealous  and  active.  She  divided  her 
time  between  the  two  sufferers,  and 
was  indefatigable  in  their  service. 
When  she  was  not  supporting  Zoe, 
she  was  always  at  Miss  Gale's  elbow 
ottering  her  services.  "Do  let  me 
help  you,"  she  said.  "Do  pray  let 
me  help.  We  are  poor  at  home,  and 
there  is  nothing  I  can  not  do.  I"in 
worth  any  three  servants." 

Site  always  helped  shift  tlie  patient 
into  a  fresh  bed,  and  that  was  done 
very  often.  She  woidd  run  to  the 
cook  or  the  butler  for  any  thing  that 
was  w:uitcd  in  a  hurry.  She  flinig 
gentility  and  huml)ug  to  the  winds. 
Then  she  dressed  in  ten  minutes,  and 
went  and  dined  with  Vizard,  and 
made  excuses  for  Zoe's  absence,  to 
keep  every  thing  smooth  ;  and  finally 
she  insisted  on  sitting  np  with  Ina 
Klosking  till  three  in  the  moining, 
and  made  Miss  Gale  go  to  bed  in  the 
room.  "I'aid  nurses!"  said  she; 
"they  are  no  use  except  to  snore  and 
drink  the  patient's  wine.  Yon  and  I 
will  watch  her  everv  moment  of  the 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


179 


niglit ;  and  if  I'm  ever  at  a  loss  what 
to  do,  I  will  call  you." 

]Miss  Gale  stared  at  her  once,  and 
then  accepted  this  new  phase  of  her 
character. 

Tlie  fever  was  hot  while  it  lasted ; 
but  it  was  so  encountered  witii  tonics, 
and  port-wine,  and  strong  beef-soup — 
not  yoiu"  rul)l)isliy  beef- tea  — that  in 
forty -eiglit  hours  it  began  to  abate. 
Ina  recognized  Kiioda  Gale  as  the 
lady  who  had  saved  Severne's  life  at 
Montpellier,  and  wept  long  and  si- 
lently upon  her  neck.  In  due  course, 
Zoe,  hearing  tliere  was  a  great  change, 
came  in  again  to  look  at  hei'.  Slie 
stood  and  eyed  her.  Soon  Ina  KIos- 
king  caught  sight  of  her,  and  stared 
at  licr. 

"You  here!"  said  she.  "Ah!  you 
are  Miss  Vizard.  I  am  in  your 
house.  I  will  get  up  and  leave  it ;" 
and  she  made  a  feeble  attempt  to 
vise,  but  fell  back,  and  the  tears  welled 
out  of  her  eyes  at  her  lielplessness. 

Zoe  was  indignant,  but  for  the  mo- 
ment more  shocked  than  any  thing 
else.  Site  moved  away  a  little,  and 
did  not  know  what  to  say. 

"Let  me  look  at  you,"  said  tlie 
patient.  "Ah!  you  are  beautiful. 
Wiien  I  saw  you  at  the  theatre,  you 
fascinated  me.  How  mucli  more  a 
man?  I  will  resist  no  more.  You 
are  too  beautiful  to  be  resisted.  Take 
him,  and  let  me  die." 

"I  do  her  no  good,"  said  Zoe,  half 
sullenly,  half  treml)ling. 

"Indeed  you  do  not,"  said  Rlioda, 
blimtly,  antl  almost  bitterly.  ISlie  was 
all  nurse. 

"I'll  come  here  no  more,"  said 
Zoe,  sadly  but  sternly,  and  left  tiie 
room. 

Then  Ina  turned  to  Miss  Gale  and 
said,  patiently,  "I  hope  I  was  not 
rude  to  that  lady  —  who  has  broken 
my  heart." 

Fanny  and  Rhoda  took  each  a  liand, 
and  told  her  she  could  not  be  rude  to 
any  body. 

"  My  friends,"  said  Ina,  looking 
|)itaously  to  e;tch  in  turn,  "it  is  lier 


house,  you  know,  and  slie  is  very 
good  to  me  now — after  breaking  my 
heart." 

Then  Fanny  showed  a  deal  of  tact. 
"//er  house!"  said  she.  "It  is  no 
more  hers  than  mine.  Why,  this 
iiouse  belongs  to  a  gentleman,  and 
he  is  mad  after  music.  He  knows 
you  very  well,  tiiougli  you  don't  know 
him,  and  he  thinks  you  the  first  singer 
in  Europe." 

"You  flatter  me,"  said  Ina,  sadly. 

"Well,  he  tliinks  so;  and  he  is 
reckoned  a  very  good  judge.  Ah! 
now  I  tliink  of  it,  I  will  show  you 
something,  and  then  you  will  believe 
me." 

Slie  ran  oft'  to  the  library,  snatched 
up  Ina's  picture  set  round  with  pearls, 
and  came  panting  in  with  it.  "There," 
said  she;  "now  you  look  at  that!" 
and  she  put  it  before  lier  eyes.  "Now, 
who  is  that,  if  you  please?" 

"Oil!  It  'is  Ina  Klosking  tiiat 
was.     Please  bring  me  a  glass." 

The  two  ladies  looked  at  eacli 
other.  ]\Iiss  Gale  made  a  negative 
signal,  and  Fanny  said,  "By-and-by. 
This  will  do  instead,  for  it  is  as  like 
as  two  peas.  Now  ask  yourself  how 
this  comes  to  be  in  the  house,  and  set 
in  pearls.  Why,  they  are  worth  three 
innidred  pounds.  I  assure  you  that 
the  master  of  this  house  is  fanatico 
per  III  musicn  ;  lieard  you  sing  Siebel 
at  I  lomburg — raved  about  you — want- 
ed to  call  on  you.  We  had  to  drag 
iiim  away  from  the  place ;  and  he  de- 
clares you  are  the  first  singer  in  the 
world  ;  and  you  can  not  doul)t  his 
sincerity,  for  here  (ire  tlie  pearls.'" 

Ina  Klosking's  pale  cheek  colored, 
and  then  she  opened  her  two  arms 
wide,  and  put  tiiem  round  Fanny's 
neck  and  kissed  her.  Her  innocent 
vanity  was  gratified,  and  her  gracious 
nature  suggested  gratitude  to  her  who 
had  brought  her  the  compliment,  in- 
stead of  the  usual  ungrateful  bump- 
tiousness praise  elicits  from  vanity. 

Then  Miss  Gale  put  in  her  word — 
"When  you  met  witli  this  unfortunate 
accident,  I  was  for  taking  you  up  to 


180 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


my  house.  It  is  tliiee  miles  oft';  but 
he  would  not  hear  of  it.  He  said, 
'  No ;  here  she  got  her  wound,  and 
here  she  must  be  cured.'  " 

"80,"  said  Fanny,  "pray  set  your 
mind  at  ease.  My  cousin  Harrington 
is  a  very  good  soul,  i)nt  rather  arl)itra- 
ry.  Jf  you  want  to  leave  this  place, 
you  must  get  thorouglily  well  and 
strong,  for  he  will  never  let  you  go 
till  you  are." 

Between  these  two  ladies,  clever 
and  co-operating,  Ina  smiled,  and 
seemed  relieved ;  but  she  was  too 
weak  to  converse  any  more  just  then. 

Some  hours  afterward  siie  beckoned 
Fanny  to  her,  and  said,  "The  master 
of  the  house — what  is  his  name?" 

"  Harrington  Vizard." 

"What!— /icr  father?" 

"La,  no  ;  only  her  half-brother." 

"If  he  is  so  kind  to  me  because  I 
sing,  why  comes  he  not  to  see  me? 
She  has  come." 

Fanny  smiled.  "It  is  plain  you 
arc  not  an  Englishwoman,  though  you 
speak  it  so  beautifully.  An  Knglish 
gentleman  does  not  intrude  into  a 
lady's  room." 

"It  is  his  room." 

"He  would  say  that  while  you  oc- 
cupy it,  it  is  yours,  and  not  his." 

"He  awaits  my  invitation,  then.'' 

"I  dare  say  he  would  come  if  you 
were  to  invite  him,  but  certainly  not 
without." 

"  I  wish  to  see  him  who  has  been 
so  kind  to  me,  and  so  loves  music ; 
but  not  to-day — I  feel  unable." 

The  next  day  she  asked  for  a  glass, 
and  was  distressed  at  her  appearance. 
She  begged  for  a  cap. 

"What  kind  of  cap  ?"  asked  Fanny. 

"  One  like  that,"  said  she,  pointing 
to  a  portrait  on  the  wall.  It  was  of 
a  lady  in  a  plain  brown  silk  dress  and 
a  little  white  shawl,  and  a  neat  cap 
with  a  narrow  lace  border  all  round 
her  face. 

This  particular  cap  was  out  of  date 
full  si.\ty  years ;  but  the  house  had  a 
store-room  of  relics,  and  Fanny,  with 
Vizard's  help,  soon  rummaged  out  a 


cap  of  the  sort,  with  a  narrow  frill  all 
round. 

Her  hair  was  smoothed,  a  white 
silk  band  passed  over  the  now  closed 
wound,  and  the  caj)  fitted  on  her. 
She  looked  pale,  but  angelic. 

Faimy  went  down  to  Vizard,  and 
invited  him  to  come  and  see  Made- 
moiselle Klosking  —  bv  her  desire. 
"But,"  she  added,  "Miss  Gale  is 
very  anxious  lest  you  should  get  talk- 
ing of  Severne.  She  says  the  fever 
and  loss  of  blood  have  weakened  her 
terribly  ;  and  if  we  bring  the  fever  on 
again,  she  can  not  answer  for  her  life." 

"  Has  she  spoken  of  him  to  you?" 

"Not  once." 

"Then  why  should  she  to  me?" 

"Because  you  are  a  man,  and  she 
may  think  to  get  the  truth  out  of  you  : 
slie  knows  we  shall  only  say  what  is 
for  the  best.  She  is  very  deep,  and 
we  don't  know  her  mind  yet." 

Vizard  said  he  would  be  as  guarded 
as  he  could  ;  but- if  they  saw  him  go- 
ing wrong,  they  must  send  him  away. 

"Oh,  Miss  Gale  will  do  that,  you 
may  be  sure,"  said  Fanny. 

Thus  prepared.  Vizard  followed 
Fanny  nj)  the  stairs  to  the  sick-room. 

Either  there  is  such  a  thing  as  love 
at  first  sight,  or  it  is  something  more 
than  first  sight,  when  an  observant 
man  gazes  at  a  woman  for  an  hoiu" 
in  a  blaze  of  liglit,  and  drinks  in  her 
looks,  her  walk,  her  voice,  and  all  the 
outward  signs  of  a  beautiful  soul ;  fur 
the  stout  cynic's  heart  beat  at  entering 
that  room  as  it  had  not  beat  for  years. 
To  be  sure,  he  had  not  only  seen  her 
on  the  stage  in  all  her  glory,  but  had 
iield  her,  pale  and  bleeding,  to  his 
manly  breast,  and  his  heart  warmed 
to  her  all  the  more,  and,  indeed,  fairly 
melted  with  tenderness. 

Fanny  went  in  and  announced  him. 
He  followed  softly,  and  looked  at  her. 

Wealth  can  make  even  a  sick-room 
pretty.  The  Klosking  lay  on  snowy 
pillows  whose  glossy  damask  was 
edged  with  lace ;  and  upon  her  form 
was  an  eider-down  (piilt  covered  with 
violet- colored  satin,  and  her  face  was 


I 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


181 


set  in  that  sweet  cap  which  hid  her 
wound,  and  made  lier  eloquent  face 
less  ghastly. 

She  turned  to  look  at  him,  and  he 
gazed  at  her  in  a  way  that  spoke  vol- 
umes. 

"A  seat,"  said  she,  softly. 

Fanny  was  for  putting  one  close  to 
her. 

"No,"  said  Miss  Gale,  "  lower 
down  ;  then  she  need  not  turn  her 
head." 

So  he  sat  down  nearer  her  feet. 

"My  good  host,"  said  she,  in  her 
mellow  voice,  that  retained  its  quality, 
hut  not  its  power,  "I  desire  to  thank 
you  for  your  goodness  to  a  poor  sing- 
er, struck  down  —  hy  the  hand  tiiat 
was  hound  to  protect  her." 

Vizard  faltered  out  that  tliere  was 
nothing  to  thank  him  for.  He  was 
proud  to  have  her  under  his  roof, 
though  deeply  grieved  at  the  cause. 

She  looked  at  him,  and  her  two 
nurses  looked  at  her  and  at  each  oth- 
er, as  much  as  to  say,  "She  is  going 
upon  dangerous  ground." 

They  were  right.  But  she  had  not 
the  courage,  or,  perhaps,  as  most  wom- 
en are  a  little  cat-like  in  this,  tliat  they 
go  away  once  or  twice  from  the  sub- 
ject nearest  their  heart  hefore  they 
turn  and  pounce  on  it,  she  must  speak 
of  other  things  first.  Said  slie,  "But 
if  I  was  unfortunate  in  that,  I  was  fort- 
unate in  this,  that  1  fell  into  good 
hands.  These  ladies  are  sisters  to 
me,"  and  she  gave  Miss  (iale  her 
hand,  and  kissed  ilie  other  hand  to 
Fanny,  tiiough  she  could  scarcely  lift 
it;  "  and  I  have  a  host  who  loves  mu- 
sic, and  overrates  my  poor  ability." 
TMicn,  after  a  ]jause,  "What  have  you 
heard  me  sing?" 

"Siebel." 

"Only  Siebel!  why,  that  is  a  poor 
little  thing." 

"So  /  thought,  till  I  heard  you 
sing  it." 

"  And,  after  Siebel,  you  bought  my 
photogra])h." 

"Instantly." 

"And  wasted  pearls  on  it." 


"No,  madam.  I  wasted  it  on 
pearls." 

"If  I  were  well,  I  should  call  that 
extravagant.  But  it  is  permitted  to 
flatter  the  sick — it  is  kind.  Me  you 
overrate,  I  fear ;  but  you  do  well  to 
honor  music.  Ay,  I,  who  lie  here 
wounded,  and  broken  -  hearted,  do 
thank  God  for  music.  Our  bodies 
are  soon  crushed,  our  loves  decay  or 
turn  to  hate,  but  art  is  immortal." 

She  could  no  longer  roll  this  out  in 
her  grand  contralto,  but  she  could  still 
raise  her  eyes  with  enthusiasm,  and 
her  pale  face  was  illuminated.  A 
grand  soul  shone  througli  her,  thougli 
she  was  pale,  weak,  and  prostrate. 

They  admired  her  in  silence. 

After  a  while  she  resumed,  and  said, 
"If  I  live,  I  must  live  for  my  art 
alone." 

Miss  Gale  saw  her  approaching  a 
dangerous  topic,  so  she  said,  hastily, 
"  Don't  say  (/you  live,  please,  because 
tlnit  is  arranged.  You  have  been  out 
of  danger  this  twenty-four  hours,  pro- 
vided you  do  not  relapse  ;  and  I  must 
take  care  of  that." 

"My  kind  friend,"  said  Ina,  "I 
shall  not  relapse ;  only  my  weakness 
is  pitiable.  Sometimes  I  can  scarce- 
ly forbear  crying,  I  feel  so  weak. 
When  shall  I  "be  stronger  ?" 

"  You  shall  be  a  little  stronger  ev- 
ery tln'ce  days.  Tliere  are  always  ujjs 
and  downs  in  convalescence." 

"When  shall  I  be  strong  enough 
to  move?" 

"Let  me  answer  that  ([ucstion," 
said  Vizard.  "  When  you  are  strong 
enough  to  sing  us  Siebel's  great  song." 

"There,"  said  Fanny  Dover; 
"there  is' a  mercenary  host  for  you. 
lie  means  to  have  a  song  out  of  you. 
Till  then  you  are  his  jnisoner." 

"No,  no,  she  is  mine,"  said  Miss 
Gale;  "and  she  sha'n't  go  till  she 
has  sinig  me  '  Hail,  Columbia.'  None 
of  your  Italian  trash  for  me." 

Ina  smiled,  and  said  it  was  a  fair 
condition,  ])n)vidcd  that  "  Hail,  Co- 
lumbia," with  which  composition,  un- 
fortunately, she  was  unacquainted,  was 


182 


A  WO.MAN-IIATKK. 


not  beyond  her  ]iowevs.  *'  I  have  oft- 
en sung  f(jr  Tnoncy,"  said  she;  "hut 
this  time"  —  heic  slic  oi)ened  her 
grand  arms  and  took  liiioda  Gale  to 
her  bosom — "  I  shall  sing  for  love." 

"Now  we  have  settled  that,"  said 
Vizard,  "my  mind  is  more  at  ease, 
and  I  will  retire." 

"One  moment,"  said  Ina,  turning 
to  him.  Then,  in  a  low  and  very 
meaning  voice,  '■'•  There  is  something 
else." 

"No  doubt  there  is  plenty,"  said 
Miss  Gale,  sharjily  ;  "  and,  by  my  au- 
thority, I  postpone  it  all  till  you  are 
stronger.  Bid  us  good-bye  for  tiie 
present,  Mr.  Vizard." 

"1  obey,"  said  he.  "But,  mad- 
am, please  remember  I  am  always  at 
your  service.  ISend  for  me  when  you 
please,  and  the  oftener  the  better  for 
Die." 

"  Thank  you,  my  kind  host.  Oblige 
me  witli  your  baud." 

He  gave  her  liis  hand.  She  took 
it,  and  put  her  lips  to  it  with  jiure 
and  gentle  and  seemly  gratitude,  and 
with  no  loss  of  dignity,  though  the  act 
was  huinlile. 

He  turned  his  head  awa}',  to  hide 
the  emotion  that  act  and  the  touch  of 
her  sweet  lips  caused  him  ;  Miss  Gale 
hurried  him  out  of  the  room. 

"You  naughty  patient,"  said  she; 
"you  must  do  notiiing  to  excite  your- 
self." 

"  Sweet  physician,  loving  nurse,  I 
am  not  excited." 

Miss  Gale  felt  her  heart  to  see. 

"Gratitude  docs  not  excite,"  said 
Ina.  "  It  is  too  tame  a  feeling  in  the 
best  of  us." 

"That  is  a  fact,"  said  Miss  Gale; 
"so  let  us  all  be  grateful,  and  avoid 
exciting  topics.  Think  wliat  /should 
feel  if  you  had  a  relapse.  Why,  you 
would  break  mv  iieart." 

"Should  1?" 

"I  really  think  you  would,  tough 
as  it  is.  One  gets  so  fond  of  an  un- 
selfish patient.  You  can  not  think 
how  rare  they  are,  dear.  You  are  a 
pearl.     I  can  not  aflord  to  lose  you." 


"Then  you  shall  not,"  said  Ina, 
firmly.  "Know  tiiat  i,  who  seem  so 
weak,  am  a  woman  of  great  resolu- 
tion. I  will  follow  good  counsel ;  I 
will  postpone  all  dangerous  topics  till 
I  am  stronger  ;  I  will  live.  For  I 
will  not  grieve  the  true  friends  calam- 
ity has  raised  me." 

Of  course  Fanny  told  Zoe  all  about 
this  interview.  She  listened  gloom- 
ily ;  and  all  she  said  was,  "  Sisters 
do  not  go  for  much  when  a  man  is  in 
love." 

"Do  brothers,  when  a  woman  is?" 
said  Fanny. 

"  I  dare  say  they  go  for  as  much  as 
they  are  worth." 

"Zoe,  that  is  not  fair.  Harring- 
ton is  full  of  affection  for  you.  But 
you  will  not  go  near  him.  Any  oth- 
er man  would  be  very  angry.  IJo 
pray  make  an  effort,  and  come  down 
to  dinner  to-day." 

"  No,  no.  He  has  you  and  his 
Klosking.  And  I  have  my  broken 
heart.  I  am  alone;  and  so  I  will  l)e 
all  alone." 

She  cried  and  sobbed,  but  she  was 
obstinate,  and  Fanny  could  only  let 
her  have  her  own  way  in  that. 

Anotiier  question  was  soon  dis- 
])osed  of.  When  Fanny  invited  her 
into  the  sick-room,  she  said,  haughti- 
ly, "I  go  there  no  more.  Cure  her, 
and  send  her  away — if  Hariington 
will  let  her  go.  I  dare  say  she  is  to 
be  pitied." 

"Of  course  she  is.  She  is  your 
fellow-victim,  if  you  would  only  let 
yourself  see  it." 

"  Unfortunately,  instead  of  pitying 
her,  I  hate  her.  She  has  destroyed 
my  happiness,  and  done  herself  no 
good.  He  does  not  love  her,  and 
never  will." 

Fanny  found  herself  getting  angiy, 
so  she  said  no  more ;  for  she  was  de- 
termined nothing  should  make  her 
(piarrel  with  poor  Zoe;  but  after  din- 
ner, being  tcte-u-tite  with  Vizard,  she 
told  him  she  was  afraid  Zoe  could  not 
see  things  iis  they  were ;  and  she  ask- 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


183 


ed  liim  if  lie  had  any  idea  what  had 
become  of  Severne. 

"Fled  the  country,  I  suppose."' 

"Are  you  sure  he  is  not  lurking 
about  ?" 

"What  for?" 

' '  To  get  a  word  with  Zoe — alone. " 

"  He  will  not  come  near  this.  I 
will  break  every  bone  in  his  skin  if  he 
does." 

"But  he  is  so  sly;  he  might  hang 
about." 

"  What  for?  She  never  goes  out ; 
and  if  she  did,  have  you  so  poor  an 
opinion  of  her  as  to  think  she  would 
speak  to  him?" 

"Oh  no!  and  she  would  forbid 
him  to  speak  to  her.  But  he  would 
be  sure  to  persist;  and  he  has  sucli 
wonderful  powers  of  explanation,  and 
she  is  blinded  by  love,  I  think  he 
would  make  her  believe  black  was 
white,  if  he  had  a  chance  ;  and  if  he 
is  about,  he  will  get  a  chance  some 
day.  She  is  doing  tiie  very  worst 
thing  she  could — shutting  herself  up 
so.  Any  moment  she  will  turn  wild, 
and  rusli  out  reckless.  She  is  in  a 
dangerous  state,  you  mark  my  words  ; 
she  is  broken-hearted,  and  yet  she  is 
bitter  against  every  body,  except  that 
young  villain,  and  he  is  tlie  only  en- 
emy she  has  in  the  world.  I  don't 
beheve  Mademoiselle  Klosking  ever 
wronged  her,  nor  ever  will.  Appear- 
ances are  against  her;  but  she  is  a 
good  woman,  or  I  am  a  fool.  Take 
my  advice,  Harrington,  and  be  oti 
your  guard.  If  he  had  written  a 
penitent  letter  to  Mademoiselle  Klos- 
king, that  would  be  a  different  thing; 
but  he  ignores  her,  and  that  frightens 
me  for  Zoe. " 

Harrington  woidd  not  admit  that 
Zoe  needed  any  other  safeguard 
against  a  detected  scoundrel  than  her 
own  sense  of  dignity.  He  consented, 
however,  to  take  precautions,  if  Fanny 
would  solemnly  promise  not  to  tell 
Zoe,  and  so  wound  her.  On  that 
condition,  he  would  see  his  head-keep- 
er to-morrow,  and  all  the  keepers  and 
watches  should  be  posted  so  as  to  en- 


circle the  parish  with  vigilance.  He 
assured  Fanny  these  fellows  had  a 
whole  system  of  signals  to  the  ear  and 
eye,  and  Severne  could  not  get  with- 
in a  mile  of  the  house  undetected. 
"But,"  said  he,  "I  will  not  trust  to 
that  alone.  I  will  send  an  advertise- 
ment to  the  local  papers  and  the  lead- 
ing London  journals,  so  worded  that 
the  scoundrel  shall  know  his  forgery 
is  detected,  and  that  he  will  be  ar- 
rested on  a  magistrate's  warrant  if  he 
sets  foot  in  Barfordshire." 

Fanny  said  that  was  capital,  and, 
altogether,  he  had  set  her  mind  at 
rest. 

"Then  do  as  much  for  me,"  said 
Vizard.  "Please  explain  a  remark- 
able phenomenon.  You  were  always 
a  bright  girl,  and  no  fool ;  but  not 
exactly  what  humdrum  people  would 
call  a  good  girl.  You  are  not  offend- 
ed ?" 

"The  idea!  Why,  I  have  public- 
ly disowned  goodness  again  and  again. 
You  have  heard  me." 

"So  I  have.  But  was  not  that 
rather  deceitful  of  you?  for  you  have 
turned  out  as  good  as  gold.  Anxiety 
has  kept  me  at  home  of  late,  and  I 
have  watched  you.  You  live  for 
others  ;  you  are  all  over  the  house  to 
serve  two  suffering  icomen.  That  is 
real  charity,  not  sexual  charity,  which 
humbugs  the  world,  but  not  me.  You 
are  cook,  house-maid,  butler,  nurse, 
and  friend  to  both  of  them.  In  an 
interval  of  your  time,  so  creditably 
employed,  you  come  and  cheer  me  up 
with  your  bright  little  face,  and  give 
me  wise  advice.  I  know  that  wom- 
en are  all  humbugs;  only  you  are  a 
humbug  reversed,  and  deserve  a  statue 
— and  trimmings.  You  have  been 
passing  yourself  off  for  a  naughty  girl, 
and  all  the  time  3"ou  were  an  extra 
good  one." 

"And  that  puzzles  the  woman- 
hater,  the  cynical  student,  who  says 
he  has  fathomed  woman.  My  poor 
dear  Harrington,  if  you  can  not  read 
so  shallow  a  character  as  I  am,  how 
will  you  get  on  with  those  ladies  up- 


184 


A  WOMAN-HATER, 


stairs — Zoc,  wlio  is  as  deep  as  tlie  sea, 
and  tui-lnd  with  ))assion,  and  the  KIos- 
king.  wiiij  is  as  deep  as  the  ocean  ?" 

She  thouglit  a  moment,  and  said, 
"There,  1  will  have  pity  on  you. 
Yon  siiall  understand  one  woman  be- 
fore you  die,  and  tiiat  is  me.  I'll  give 
you  the  clue  to  my  seeming  inconsist- 
encies— il  you  will  give  rue  a  cigar- 
ette." 

"What!  another  hidden  virtue? 
You  smoke ?' 

"Not  I,  except  wlien  I  happen  to 
be  with  a  noble  soul  who  won't  tell." 

Vizard  found  her  a  Russian  cigar- 
ette, and  lighted  his  own  cigar,  and 
she  lectured  as  follows  : 

"What  women  love,  and  can't  do 
without,  if  they  are  young  and  healthy 
and  spirited,  is— Excitement.  I  am 
one  who  pines  for  it.  Now,  society 
is  so  constructed  that  to  get  excite- 
ment yon  must  l)e  naughty.  Waltz- 
ing all  night  and  flirting  all  day  are 
excitement.  Crochet,  and  church, 
and  examining  girls  in  St.  Matthew, 
and  dining  en  famillp,  and  going  to 
bed  at  ten,  are  stagnation.  Good  girls 
^that  means  stagnant  girls :  I  hate 
and  despise  the  tame  little  wretches, 
and  I  never  was  one,  and  never  will 
be.  But  now  look  here:  We  have 
two  ladies  in  love  with  one  villain — 
that  is  exciting.  One  gets  nearly 
killed  in  the  house — that  is  gloriously 
exciting.  The  other  is  broken-heart- 
ed. If  I  were  to  be  a  bad  girl,  and 
say,  'It  is  not  my  business;  I  will 
leave  them  to  themselves,  and  go  my 
little  mill-round  of  selfishness  as  be- 
fore,' why,  what  a  fool  I  must  be!  I 
should  lose  Excitement.  Instead  of 
that,  I  run  and  get  things  fur  the 
Klosking — Excitement.  I  cook  for 
her,  and  nurse  her,  and  sit  up  half  the 
night — Excitement.  Then  I  run  to 
Zoe,  and  do  my  best  for  her — and  get 
snni)bed  —  Excitetnent.  Then  I  sit 
at  the  head  of  your  table,  and  order 
you — Excitement.     Oh,  it  is  lovely!" 

"Shall  you  not  be  sorry  when  they 
both  get  well,  and  Routine  recom- 
mences?" 


"Of  course  I  shall.  That  is  the 
sort  of  good  girl  I  am.  And,  oh! 
when  that  fatal  day  comes,  how  I 
shall  flirt.  Heaven  help  my  next 
flirtee!  I  shall  soon  flirt  out  the 
stigma  of  a  good  girl.  You  mark  my 
words,  I  shall  flirt  with  some  married 
man  after  this.  I  never  did  that  yet. 
I'.ut  I  shafl;  I  know  I  shall.— Ah!— 
there,  I  have  burned  my  flnger." 

"Never  mind.     That  is  exciting." 

"As  such  I  accept  it.  Good-bye. 
I^  must  go  and  relieve  Miss  Gale. 
Exit  the  good  girl  on  her  mission  of 
charity— ha!  ha!  ha!"  She  hummed 
a  valse  a  deux  temps,  and  went  dan- 
cing out  with  such  a  whirl  that  her 
petticoats,  which  were  ample,  and  not, 
as  now,  like  a  sack  tied  at  the  knees, 
made  quite  a  cool  air  in  the  room. 

She  had  not  been  gone  long  when 
Miss  Gale  came  down,  full  of  her  pa- 
tient. She  wanted  to  get  her  out  of 
bed  during  the  day-time,  but  said  she 
was  not  strong  enough  to  sit  up. 
Would  he  order  an  invalid -couch 
down  from  London  ?  She  described 
the  article,  and  where  it  was  to  be 
had. 

lie  said  Harris  should  go  up  in  the 
morning  and  bring  one  down  with 
him. 

He  then  put  her  several  questions 
about  her  patient;  and  at  last  asked 
her,  with  an  anxiety  he  in  vain  en- 
deavored to  conceal,  what  she  thought 
was  the  relation  between  her  and  Sev- 
ern e. 

Now  it  may  be  remembered  that 
Miss  Gale  had  once  been  on  the  point 
of  telling  him  all  she  knew,  and  had 
written  him  a  letter.  ]5ut  at  that 
time  the  Klosking  was  not  expected 
to  appear  on  the  scene  in  person. 
Were  she  now  to  say  she  had  seen 
her  and  Severne  living  together, 
Rhoda  felt  that  she  should  lower  her 
patient.  She  had  not  the  heart  to  do 
that. 

Rhoda  Gale  was  not  of  an  amorous 
temperament,  and  she  was  all  the 
more  open  to  female  attachments. 
With  a  little  encouragement  she  would 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


18; 


have  loved  Zoe,  but  she  had  now 
transferred  her  affection  to  tlie  Klos- 
king.  She  rejiUed  to  Vizard  almost 
like  a  male  lover  defending  the  object 
of  his  affection. 

"  The  exact  relation  is  more  than 
I  can  tell ;  but  I  think  he  has  lived 
upon  her,  for  she  was  riciier  than  he 
was  ;  and  I  feel  sure  he  has  promised 
her  marriage.  And  my  great  fear  now 
is  lest  he  slioiild  get  hold  of  her  and 
keep  his  promise,  lie  is  as  ]ioor  as  a 
rat  or  a  female  physician  ;  and  she  has 
a  fortune  in  her  voice,  and  has  money 
besides,  Miss  Dover  tells  me.  I'ray 
keep  her  here  till  she  is  quite  well, 
please." 

"1  will." 

"And  then  let  me  have  her  up  at 
Tliilstoke.  She  is  beginning  to  love 
me,  and  I  dote  on  her." 

"So  do  I." 

"Ah,  but  you  must  not." 

"Why  not?" 

"Because." 

"Well,  why  not?" 

"She  is  not  to  love  any  man  again 
who  will  not  marry  her.  I  won't  let 
her.  I'll  kill  her  first,  I  love  her  so. 
A  rogue  she  sha'n't  marry,  and  I  can't 
let  you  marry  her,  because  her  con- 
nection witli  tliat  Severne  is  mysteri- 
ous. She  seems  the  soul  of  virtue, 
but  I  could  not  let  you  marry  her  un- 
til things  are  clearer." 

"Make  your  mind  easy.  I  will 
not  marry  her — nor  any  body  else — ■ 
till  things  are  a  great  deal  clearer  than 
I  have  ever  found  them,  where  your 
sex  is  concerned." 

Miss  Gale  approved  the  resolution. 

Next  day  Vizard  posted  his  ke-jpers, 
and  sent  his  advertisements  to  the 
London  and  country  journals. 

Fanny  came  into  his  study  to  tell 
him  there  was  more  trouble  —  ^liss 
Maitland  taken  seriously  ill,  and  had 
written  to  Zoe. 

"Poor  old  soul!"  said  Vizard. 
"  I  have  a  great  mind  to  ride  over 
and  see  her." 

"Somebody  ought  to  go," said  Fan- 
ny- 


"Well,  you  go." 

"  How  can  I — with  Zoe,  and  Made- 
moiselle Klosking,  and  you,  to  look 
after?" 

"Instead  of  one  old  woman.  Not 
much  excitement  in  that." 

"No,  cousin.  To  think  of  your 
remembering  !  Why,  you  must  ha\  e 
gone  to  bed  sober. " 

"I  often  do." 

"You  were  always  an  eccentric 
land-owner." 

"Don't  you  talk.  You  arc  a  cari- 
cature." 

Tiiis  banter  was  interrupted  by 
Miss  Gale,  who  came  to  tell  Harring- 
ton Mademoiselle  Klosking  desired  to 
see  him,  at  his  leisure. 

He  said  he  would  come  directly. 

"Before  you  go,"  said  Miss  Gale, 
"let  us  come  to  an  understanding. 
She  had  only  two  days'  fever  ;  but  tiiat 
fever,  and  the  loss  of  blood,  and  tiie 
shock  to  her  nerves,  brought  her  to 
death's  door  by  exhaustion.  Now  she 
is  slowly  recovering  her  strength,  be- 
cause she  has  a  healthy  stomach,  and 
I  give  her  no  stimulants  to  spur  and 
then  weaken  her,  but  choice  and  sim- 
ple esculents,  the  effect  of  which  I 
watch,  and  vary  them  accordingly. 
But  the  convalescent  period  is  always 
one  of  danger,  especially  from  chills 
to  the  body,  and  excitements  to  the 
brain.  At  no  jieriod  are  more  pa- 
tients thrown  away  for  want  of  vigi- 
lance. Now  I  can  guard  against 
chills  and  other  bodily  things,  but  not 
against  excitements — unless  you  co- 
operate. The  fact  is,  we  must  agree 
to  avoid  s])eaking  about  I\Ir.  Severne. 
We  must  be  on  our  guard.  We  must 
parry;  Ave  must  evade;  we  must  be 
deaf,  stu]>id,  slippery;  but  no  Severne 
— for  five  or  six  days  more,  at  all 
events." 

Thus  forewarned,  Vizard,  in  due 
course,  ])aid  his  second  visit  to  Ina 
Klosking. 

He  found  her  propped  up  with  pil- 
lows this  time.     She  begged  him  to 
be  seated. 
She  had  evidently  something  on  her 


ISC, 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


mind,  and  her  nurses  watched  her 
like  cats. 

"  You  are  fond  of  music,  sir?" 

"Not  of  all  music.  I  adore  good 
music,  I  hate  bad,  and  I  despise  medi- 
ocre. Silence  is  golden,  indeed,  coni- 
])ared  with  poor  music." 

"You  are  right,  sir.  Have  you 
good  music  in  the  house  ?" 

"A  little.  I  get  all  the  operas, 
and  you  know  there  are  generally 
one  or  two  good  things  in  an  op- 
era—  among  the  nihbish.  liut  tlie 
great  bulk  of  our  collection  is  rather 
old-fashioned.  It  is  sacred  music — 
oratorios,  masses,  antiiems,  services, 
chants.  My  mother  was  the  collei't- 
or.  Her  tastes  were  good,  but  nar- 
row. Do  you  care  for  that  sort  of 
music?" 

"Sacred  music?  Why,  it  is,  of  all 
music,  the  most  divine,  and  soothes 
the  troubled  soul,  dm  I  not  see  the 
books?  I  read  music  like  words. 
IJy  reading  I  almost  hear." 

"We  will  bring  you  up  a  dozen 
books  to  begin  on." 

lie  went  down  directly ;  and  such 
was  his  pleasure  in  doing  any  thing 
for  the  Ivlosking  tliat  he  executed  the 
order  in  person,  brought  up  a  little 
l)ile  of  folios  and  (juartos,  beautifully 
bound  and  lettered,  a  lady  having  been 
the  collector. 

Now,  as  he  mounted  the  stairs,  with 
liis  very  chin  upon  the  ])ile,  who  should 
he  see  looking  over  the  rails  at  liim 
l)ut  his  sister  Zoe. 

Site  was  sadly  changed.  'J'liere 
was  a  fixed  ashen  pallor  on  her  cheek, 
and  a  dark  circle  under  her  eyes. 

He  stojijied  to  look  at  her.  "My 
poor  child,"  said  he,  "  vou  look  very 
ill." 

"  I  am  very  ill,  dear." 

"Would  you  not  be  better  fur  a 
change  ?" 

"I  might." 

"Why  coop  yourself  uj)  in  your 
own  room  ?  Why  deny  yourself  a 
brother's  sympathy?" 

The  girl  trembled,  and  tears  came 
to  her  eyes. 


"Is  it  with  me  3'ou  sympathize?" 
said  she. 

"  Can  you  doubt  it,  Zoe  ?" 

Zoe  hung  her  head  a  moment,  and 
did  not  reply.  Then  she^made  a  di- 
version. "What  are  tiiose  books? 
Oh,  I  see — your  mother's  music-books. 
Nothing  is  too  good  for  her." 

"Nothing  in  tiie  way  of  music-books 
is  too  good  for  lier.  For  shame!  are 
you  jealous  of  that  nnfortuiuitc  lady  ?" 

Zoe  made  no  re])ly. 

She  put  her  iiands  before  her  face, 
that  Vizard  might  not  see  her  mind. 

Then  he  rested  his  books  on  a  ta- 
ble, and  came  and  took  her  head  in 
his  hands  paternally.  "Do  not  slnit 
yourself  up  any  longer.  Solitude  is 
dangerous  to  the  afflicted.  Be  more 
with  me  than  ever,  and  let  this  cruel 
blow  bind  us  more  closely,  instead  of 
disuniting  us." 

He  kissed  her  lovingly,  and  his  kind 
words  set  her  tears  flowing ;  but  they 
did  her  little  good — they  were  bitter 
tears.  Between  her  and  her  l)rotlier 
there  was  now  a  barrier  sisterly  love 
could  not  pass.  He  hated  and  de- 
sjiised  Edward  Severne  ;  and  she  only 
distrusted  him,  and  feared  he  was  a 
villain.  She  loved  him  still  with  ev- 
ery fibre  of  her  heart,  and  pined  for 
his  explanation  of  all  that  seemed  so 
dark. 

So  then  he  entered  the  sick  -  room 
with  his  music-books;  and  Zoe,  after 
watching  him  in  witliout  seeming  to 
do  so,  crept  away  to  her  own  room. 

Then  there  was  rather  a  pretty  lit- 
tle scene.  Miss  Gale  and  Miss  Dover, 
on  each  side  of  the  bed,  held  a  heavy 
music-book,  and  Mademoiselle  Klos- 
king  turnetl  the  leaves  and  read,  when 
the  composition  was  worth  reading. 
If  it  was  not,  she  quietly  passed  it 
over,  without  any  injurious  comment. 

Vizard  watched  her  from  the  foot 
of  the  bed,  and  could  tell  in  a  moment, 
by  her  face,  whether  the  composition 
was  good,  bad,  or  indifferent.  When 
bad,  her  face  seemed  to  turn  impas- 
sive, like  marble;  when  good,  to  ex- 
l)and ;    and  wiien   she   lighted   on   a 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


187 


masterpiece,  she  was  almost  transfig- 
ured, and  her  face  shone  with  elevated 
joy. 

This  was  a  study  to  the  enamored 
Vizard,  and  it  did  not  escape  the 
quick-sighted  doctress.  She  despised 
music  on  its  own  merits,  but  she  de- 
spised nothing  tliat  could  be  pressed 
into  the  service  of  medicine  ;  and  she 
said  to  herself,  "I'll  cure  her  with 
esculents  and  music." 

The  book  was  taken  away  to  make 
room  for  another. 

Then  said  Ina  Klosking,  "Mr. 
Vizard,  I  desire  to  say  a  word  to  you. 
E.xcuse  me,  my  dear  friends." 

Miss  Gale  colored  up.  Slie  had 
not  foreseen  a  tete-ii-tete  between 
Vizard  and  her  patient.  However, 
there  was  no  liel])  for  it,  and  she  with- 
drew to  a  little  distance  with  Fanny ; 
but  she  said  to  Vizard,  ojienly  and 
expressively,  "  Remember!" 

When  they  had  withdrawn  a  little 
way,  Ina  Klosking  fixed  her  eyes  on 
Vizard,  and  said,  ia  a  low  voice,  "Your 
sister!" 

Vizard  started  a  little  at  the  sud- 
denness of  this,  but  he  said  nothing: 
he  did  not  know  wiiat  to  say. 

Wiien  she  iiad  waited  a  little,  and 
he  said  nothing,  she  s])oke  again. 
"Tell  me  something  about  lier.  Is 
she  good  ?  Forgive  me  :  it  is  not  that 
I  doubt." 

"She  is  good,  according  to  her 
lights." 

"  Is  she  proud  ?" 

"Yes." 

"Is  she  just?" 

"  No.  And  I  never  met  a  woman 
that  was." 

"Indeed  it  is  rare.  Why  does  she 
not  visit  me?" 

"I  don't  know." 

"She  bhimes  me  for  all  tliat  has 
happened," 

"  I  don't  know,  madam.  I\Iy  sis- 
ter looks  very  ill,  anil  keeps  lier  own 
room.  Jf  slie  does  not  visit  yon,  she 
holds  equally  aloof  from  ns  ail.  She 
has  not  taken  a  single  meal  with  me 
for  some  days." 


"  Since  I  was  your  patient  and  your 
guest." 

"Fray  do  not  conclude  from  that — 
Who  can  interpret  a  woman  ?" 

"Another  woman.  Enigmas  to 
yon,  we  are  transparent  to  each  other. 
Sir,  will  you  grant  me  a  favor?  Will 
you  persuade  Miss  Vizard  to  see  me 
here  alone — all  alone  ?  It  will  be  a 
greater  trial  to  me  than  to  her,  for  I 
am  weak.  In  this  request  I  am  not 
selfish.  She  can  do  nothing  for  me ; 
but  I  can  do  a  little  for  her,  to  pay 
the  debt  of  gratitude  I  owe  this  hos- 
pitable house.  May  Heaven  bless  it, 
from  the  roof  to  the  foundation-stone !" 

"I  will  s])eak  to  my  sister,  and  she 
shall  visit  you — with  the  consent  of 
your  physician." 

"  It  is  well,"  said  Ina  Klosking,  and 
beckoned  her  friends,  one  of  whom, 
Miss  Gale,  proceeded  to  feel  her  pulse, 
with  suspicious  glances  at  Vizard. 
But  she  found  the  pulse  calm,  and 
said  so. 

Vizard  look  his  leave,  and  went 
straight  to  Zoe's  room.  She  was  not 
there.  He  was  glad  of  that,  for  it 
gave  him  hopes  she  was  going  to  re- 
spect his  advice,  and  give  up  her  sol- 
itary life. 

lie  went  down-stairs  and  on  to  tlio 
lawn  to  look  for  her.  He  could  not 
see  her  anywhere. 

At  last,  when  lie  had  given  up  look- 
ing for  her,  he  found  her  in  his  study 
crouched  in  a  corner. 

She  rose  at  sight  of  him,  and  stood 
before  him.  "  Harrington,"  said  she, 
in  ratlier  a  commanding  way,  "Aunt 
Maitiand  is  ill, and  I  wisli  to  go  to  her." 

Harrington  stared  at  her  with  sur- 
prise. "You  are  not  well  enough 
yotu'self." 

"Quite  well  enough  in  body  to  go 
anywhere." 

"  Well,  but—"  said  Harrington. 

Slie  cauglit  him  up  impatiently. 
"Surely  you  can  not  ol>ject  to  my 
visiting  Aunt  Maitiand.  She  is  dan- 
gerously ill.  I  had  a  second  letter 
this  morning  —  see."  And  she  held 
him  out  a  letter. 


188 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


Harrington  was  in  a  difficulty.  He 
felt  sure  this  was  not  her  real  motive  ; 
but  he  did  not  like  to  say  so  harshly 
to  an  iinliappy  girl.  He  took  a  mod- 
erate course.  "Not  just  now,  dear," 
said  he. 

"What!  am  I  to  wait  till  she 
dies  ?"  cried  Zoe,  getting  agitated  at 
ids  opposition. 

"  Be  reasonable,  dear.  You  know 
you  are  the  mistress  of  this  house. 
Do  not  desert  me  just  now.  (,'on- 
sider  the  position.  It  is  a  very  cliat- 
toring  county.  I  entertain  Mademoi- 
selle Klosking ;  I  could  not  do  oth- 
erwise when  she  was  nearly  killed 
in  my  hall.  But  for  my  sister  to  go 
away  while  slie  remains  here  would 
have  a  bad  effect." 

"It  is  too  late  to  think  of  tiiat, 
Harrington.  The  mischief  is  done, 
and  you  must  plead  your  eccentricity. 
Why  should  I  bear  the  blame?  I 
never  approved  it." 

"You  would  have  sent  her  to  an 
inn,  eh  ?" 

"No;  but  Miss  Gale  offered  to 
take  her." 

"  Tlien  I  am  to  understand  that  you 
propose  to  mark  your  re]jrobatiou  of 
my  conduct  bv  leaving  mv  house." 

'"What!  publicly?  (3h  no.  You 
may  say  to  yourself  that  your  sister 
could  not  bear  to  stay  under  the  same 
roof  with  Mr.  Severne's  mistress.  But 
this  chattering  county  shall  never 
know  my  mind.  My  aunt  is  danger- 
ously ill.  >Slie  lives  but  thirty  miles 
off.  !She  is  a  fit  object  of  pity.  ISlie 
is  a  —  respectable  —  lady;  she  is  all 
alone ;  no  female  physician,  no  flirt 
turned  Sister  of  C'liarity,  no  woman- 
hater,  to  fetch  'and  carry  for  her. 
And  so  I  shall  go  to  her.  I  am  yotu" 
sister,  not  your  slave.  If  you  grudge 
me  your  horses,  I  will  go  on  foot." 

Vizard  was  white  with  wrath,  but 
governed  himself  like  a  man.  "Go 
on,  young  lady!"  said  he;  "go  on! 
Jeer,  and  taunt,  and  wound  the  best 
brother  an}'  yoinig  madwoman  ever 
had.  But  don't  think  I'll  answer  you 
as  you  deserve.      I'm  too   cunning. 


If  I  was  to  say  an  unkind  word  to 
you,  I  should  sufl'er  the  tortures  of  the 
damned.     So  go  on  !" 

"No,  no.  Forgive  me,  Harring- 
ton. It  is  your  op|)Osition  that  drives 
me  wild.  Oh,  have  i)ity  on  me!  I 
shall  go  mad  if  I  stay  here.  Do,  pray, 
prav,  pray  let  me  go  to  Aunt  jlait- 
land!" 

"You  shall  go,  Zoe.  But  I  tell 
you  jilainly,  this  step  will  be  a  blow 
to  our  affection — the  first." 

Zoe  cried  at  that.  But  as  she  did 
not  withdraw  her  rctjuest,  Harrington 
told  her,  with  cold  civility,  that  she 
must  be  good  enough  to  be  ready  di- 
rectly after  breakfast  to-morrow,  and 
take  as  little  luggage  as  she  could 
with  convenience  to  herself. 

Horses  were  sent  on  that  night  to 
the  "Fox,"  an  inn  half-way  between 
Vizard  Court  and  Miss  Maitland's 
place. 

In  the  morning  a  light  barouche, 
with  a  sling  for  luggage,  came  round, 
and  Zoe  was  soon  seated  in  it.  Then, 
to  her  surprise,  Harrington  came  out 
and  sat  beside  her. 

She  was  pleased  at  this,  and  said, 
"  "What !  are  vou  going  with  me,  dear, 
all  that  way?"  " 

"Yes,  to  save  appearances,"  said 
he;  and  took  out  a  newspaper  to  read. 

This  froze  Zoe,  and  she  retired 
within  herself 

It  was  a  fine  fresh  morning;  the 
coachman  drove  fast;  the  air  fanned 
her  cheek ;  the  motion  was  eidiven- 
ing ;  the  horses'  hoofs  rang  quick  and 
clear  upon  the  road.  Fresli  objects 
met  the  eye  every  moment.  Her 
heart  was  as  sad  and  aching  as  be- 
fore, but  there  arose  a  faint  encour- 
aging sense  that  some  day  she  might 
be  better,  or  things  might  take  some 
turn. 

When  they  had  rolled  about  ten 
miles  she  said,  in  a  low  voice,  "Har- 
rington." 

"Well?" 

"  You  were  right.  Cooping  one's 
self  up  is  the  way  to  go  mad." 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


189 


"Of  course  it  is." 

"I  feel  a  little  better  now — a  very 
little." 

"I  am  glad  of  it." 

But  he  was  not  hearty,  and  she  said 
no  more. 

He  was  extremely  attentive  to  her 
all  the  journey,  and,  indeed,  had  never 
been  half  so  polite  to  her. 

This,  however,  led  to  a  result  lie 
did  not  intend  nor  anticipate.  Zoe, 
being  now  cool,  fell  into  a  state  of 
compunction  and  dismay.  She  saw 
his  aftection  leaving  her  for  her,  and 
stiff' politeness  coming  instead. 

She  leaned  forward,  put  her  hands 
on  his  knees,  and  looked,  all  scared, 
in  his  face.  "  Harrington,"  she  cried, 
"I  was  wrong.  AVhat  is  Aunt  Mait- 
land  to  me?  You  are  my  ail.  Bid 
him  turn  the  horses'  heads  and  go 
home." 

"AVhy,  we  are  only  six  miles  from 
the  place." 

"What  does  that  matter?  We 
shall  Iiave  had  a  good  long  drive  to- 
gether, and  I  will  dine  with  you  after 
it ;  and  I  will  ride  or  drive  witli  you 
every  day,  if  you  will  let  me." 

Vizard  could  not  liclp  smiling. 
He  was  disarmed.  "You  impulsive 
young  monkey,"  said  he,  "I  sluiU  do 
notliiug  of  the  kind.  In  tlie  first 
place,  1  couldn't  turn  back  from  any 
thing;  I'm  oidy  a  man.  In  the  next 
place,  I  iiave  been  thinking  it  over,  as 
you  have;  and  tiiis  is  a  good  move 
of  ours,  though  I  was  a  little  mortified 
at  first.  Occupation  is  tiie  best  cure 
of  love,  and  this  old  lady  will  find  you 
plenty.  Besides,  nin-sing  iin]iroves 
the  character.  Look  at  that  frivolous 
girl  Fanny,  how  she  has  come  out. 
And  you  know,  Zoe,  if  you  get  sick 
of  it  in  a  day  or  two,  you  have  only  to 
write  to  me,  and  I  will  send  for  you 
directly.  A  short  absence,  with  so 
reasonable  a  motive  as  visiting  a  sick 
aunt,  will  provoke  no  comments.  It 
is  all  for  the  best." 

This  set  Zoe  at  her  ease,'and  broth- 
er and  sister  resumed  their  usual  niini- 
ners. 


They  reached  IMiss  Maitland's 
house,  and  were  admitted  to  her  sick- 
room. She  was  really  very  ill,  and 
thanked  them  so  pathetically  for  com- 
ing to  visit  a  poor  lone  old  woman  that 
now  they  were  both  glad  they  had 
come. 

Zoe  entered  on  her  functions  with 
an  alacrity  that  surprised  herself,  and 
Vizard  drove  away.  But  he  did  not 
drive- straight  home.  lie  had  started 
from  Vizard  Court  with  other  views. 
He  had  telegraphed  Lord  Uxmoor 
the  night  before,  and  now  drove  to  his 
place,  which  was  only  five  miles  dis- 
tant. He  found  him  at  home,  and 
soon  told  him  his  errand.  "  Do  you 
remember  meeting  a  young  fellow  at 
my  house,  called  Severne?" 

"I  do,"  said  Lord  Uxmoor,  dryly 
enough. 

"  Well,  he  has  turned  out  an  im- 
postor. " 

Uxmoor's  eye  flashed.  He  had  al- 
ways suspected  Severne  of  being  his 
rival,  and  a  main  cause  of  his  defeat. 
"An  impostor?"  said  he:  "that  is 
rather  a  strong  word.  Certainly  I 
never  heard  a  gentleman  tell  such  a 
falsehood  as  he  volunteered  about — 
what's  the  fellow's  name? — a  detect- 
ive." 

"Oh,  Poikilus.  That  is  nothing. 
That  was  one  of  his  white  lies.  He  is 
a  villain  all  round,  and  a  forger  by 
way  of  climax." 

"  A  forger !     What,  a  criminal  ?" 

"Kather!  Here  are  his  drafts. 
The  drawer  and  acceptor  do  not  exist. 
The  whole  thing  was  written  by  Ed- 
ward Severne,  whose  indorsement  fig- 
ures on  the  bill.  He  got  me  to  cash 
these  bills.  I  deposit  them  with  you, 
and  I  ask  you  for  a  warrant  to  com- 
mit him — if  he  shoidd  come  this  way." 

"Is  that  likely?' 

"  Not  at  all ;  it  is  a  hundred  to  one 
he  never  shows  bis  nose  again  in  Bar- 
fordshire.  When  he  was  found  out, 
he  bolted,  and  left  his  very  clothes  in 
my  house.  I  packed  them  ofY  to  the 
'  Swan  '  at  Taddington.  He  has  nev- 
^ev  been   heard  of  since;  and   I  have 


100 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


warned  him,  by  advertisement,  that 
lie  will  be  arrested  if  ever  lie  sets  foot 
in  IJarforilsliire. " 

"Well,  then?" 

"Well,  then,  I  am  not  going  to 
throw  away  a  chance.  The  beggar 
had  the  iiiipiuleiice  to  spoon  on  my 
sister  Zoe.  That  was  my  fault,  not 
hers.  lie  was  an  old  college  ac- 
quaintance, and  1  gave  him  o])portu- 
nities — 1  deserve  to  be  horsewhijiped. 
However,  I  am  not  going  to  commit 
the  same  blunder  twice.  My  sister  is 
in  your  neighborhood  for  a  few  days." 

"Ah!" 

"And  perhaps  you  will  be  good 
enough  to  keep  your  eye  on  her." 

"1  feel  much  honored  by  such  a 
commission.  But  you  have  not  told 
me  where  Miss  Vizard  is." 

"  With  her  aunt.  Miss  Maitland,  at 
Somerville  Villa,  near  Bagley.  A])io- 
pos,  I  had  better  tell  you  what  she  is 
there  for,  or  your  good  dowager  w  ill 
be  asking  her  to  j)arties.  She  1ms 
come  to  nurse  her  aunt  Maitland. 
Tiie  old  lady  is  seriously  ill,  and  all 
our  young  coquettes  are  going  in  for 
nursing.  We  have  a  sick  lady  at  our 
house,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  and  she  is 
nursed  like  a  (pieuii  by  Doctress  Gale 
and  c.\-Flirt  l"'anny  IJover.  Now  is 
fullilled  the  saying  that  was  said, 

'O  woman  !  in  our  hours  of  case— ' 

I  spare  you  the  rest,  and  simply  re- 
mark that  our  Zoe,  fired  by  the  exam- 
ple of  those  two  ladies,  has  dev.oted 
lierself  to  nursing  Aunt  Maitland.  It 
is  very  good  of  her,  but  experience 
tells  me  she  will  very  soon  find  it  ex- 
tremely trying ;  and  as  she  is  a  very 
pretty  girl,  and  therefore  a  fit  subject 
of  male  charily,  you  might  jiay  her  a 
visit  now  and  then,  and  show  her  that 
this  best  of  all  ))()ssibie  worlds  con- 
tains young  gentlemen  of  distinction, 
willi  long  and  glossy  beards,  as  well 
as  peevish  old  women,  who  are  extra 
selfish  and  tyrannical  wlien  they  haj)- 
pen  to  be  sick." 

Uxmoor  positively  radiated  as  tliis 
programme    was    unfulded    to    him. 


Vizard  observed  that,  and  chuckled 
inwardly. 

He  tlien  handed  him  the  forged  ac- 
ceptances. 

Lord  Uxmoor  begged  him  to  write 
down  tlie  facts  on  i)aper,  and  also  his 
a])plication  for  tlie  warrant.  He  ditl 
so.  Lord  Uxmoor  locked  tlie  pnper 
up,  and  tlie  friends  parted.  Vizard 
drove  oil',  easy  in  his  mind,  and  con- 
gratulating himself,  not  unreasonably, 
on  his  little  combination,  by  means  of 
which  he  had  jirovided  his  sister  witli 
a  watch -dog,  a  companion,  and  an 
iionorable  lover,  all  in  one. 

Uxmoor  put  on  his  hat  and  strode 
forth  into  his  own  grounds,  with  his 
heart  beating  high  at  tliis  strange  turn 
of  things  in  favor  of  iiis  love. 

Neither  foresaw  the  strange  combi- 
nations whicii  were  to  arise  out  of  an 
event  that  ajipearcd  so  simple  and 
one-sided. 


CHArTER  XXIL 

Ina  Klosking's  cure  was  retarded 
by  the  state  of  her  mind.  The  ex- 
citement and  sharp  agony  her  ])hy- 
sician  bad  feared  died  away  as  the 
fever  of  tlie  brain  subsided;  i)iit  then 
lliere  settled  down  a  grim,  listless 
lethargy,  which  obstructed  her  return 
to  health  and  vigor.  Once  she  said 
to  Khoda  Gale,  "But  I  have  nothing 
to  get  well  for."  As  a  rule,  she  did 
not  speak  her  mind,  but  thought  a 
great  deal.  Siic  often  asked  after 
Zoe;  and  her  nurses  could  see  that 
her  one  languid  anxiety  was  somehow 
connected  with  that  lady.  Yet  she 
did  not  seem  hostile  to  her  now,  nor 
jealous.  It  was  hard  to  understand 
her;  she  was  reserved,  and  very  deeji. 

Tiie. first  relief  to  the  deadly  lan- 
guor of  her  mind  came  to  her  from 
Music.  That  was  no  great  wonder; 
but,  strange  to  say,  tlie  music  that 
did  her  good  was  neither  old  enough 
tt)  be  revered,  nor  new  enough  to  be 
fashionable.       It  was   English  music 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


101 


too,  nnd passe  music.  Slie  carae  across 
a  collection  of  Anglican  anthems  and 
services — written,  most  of  it,  toward 
the  end  of  the  last  century  and  the 
beginning  of  this.  Tlie  composers' 
names  promised  little:  they  were 
Blow,  Nares,  Green,  Kent,  King, 
Jackson,  etc.  Tiie  words  and  the 
music  of  these  compositions  seemed 
to  suit  one  another;  and,  as  they 
were  all  quite  new  to  her,  she  went 
tlirough  them  almost  eagerly,  and 
hummed  several  of  tiie  strains,  and 
with  her  wliite  but  now  thin  hand  beat 
time  to  others.  She  even  sent  for 
Vizard,  and  said  to  him,  "You  have 
a  treasure  here.  Do  you  know  these 
compositions?' 

He  inspected  his  treasure.  "I  re- 
member," said  he,  "my  mother  used 
to  sing  this  one,  '  Wlien  tlie  Eye  saw 
llcr,  then  it  blessed  Her;'  and  parts 
of  this  one,  'Hear  my  Prayer;'  and, 
let  me  see,  sh.e  used  to  sing  tiiis  psalm, 
'  Praise  the  Lord,'  by  Jackson.  I  am 
ashamed  to  say  I  used  t(>  ask  for 
'Praise  the  Lord  Jackson,'  meaning 
to  be  funny,  not  devout." 

"Slie  did  not  choose  ill,"  said  Ina. 
"I  thought  I  knew  English  music, 
yet  here  is  a  whole  stream  of  it  new 
to  me.     Is  it  esteemed  ?'' 

"I  tliink  it  was  once,  but  it  has 
had  its  day." 

"  Tliat  is  strange ;  for  here  are  some 
immortal  qualities.  'I'liese  conq)osers 
iuid  brains,  and  began  at  the  light 
end  ;  they  selected  grand  and  tuneful 
words,  great  and  pious  thoughts ;  they 
im])regnated  themselves  with  those 
words,  and  ])roduced  appropriate  mu- 
sic. The  harmonies  are  sometimes 
thin,  and  the  writers  seem  scarcely  to 
know  the  skillfid  use  of  discords  ;  but 
they  Iiad  heart  and  invention  ;  they 
saw  their  way  clear  before  they  wrote 
the  first  note ;  there  is  an  inspired 
simplicity  and  fervor:  if  all  tiiese 
clioice  tilings  are  dead,  they  must  have 
fallen  upon  bad  interiireters." 

"No  doubt,"  said  Vizard;  "so 
please  get  well,  and  let  me  hear  these 
pious    strains,  which    my   poor    dear 


mother  loved  so  well,  interpreted  wor- 
thily. " 

The  Klosking's  eyes  filled.  "That 
is  a  temptation,"  said  she,  simply. 
Tlien  she  turned  to  Ilhoda  Gale. 
"Sweet  jihysician,  he  has  done  me 
good.  He  has  given  me  something 
to  get  well  for." 

Vizard's  heart  yearned.  "Do  not 
talk  like  that,"  said  he,  buoyantly ; 
then,  in  a  broken  voice,  "Heaven 
forbid  you  should  have  nothing  better 
to  live  for  than  that." 

"Sir,"  said  she,  gravely,  "I  have 
nothing  better  to  live  for  now  than 
to  interpret  good  music  worthily." 

There  was  a  painful  silence. 

Ina  broke  it.  She  said,  quite  calm- 
ly, "First  of  all,  I  wish  to  know  how 
others  interjiret  these  strains  your 
mother  loved,  and  I  have  the  honor 
to  agree  with  her." 

'"Uh,"  said  Vizard,  "we  will  soon 
manage  that  for  you.  These  things 
are  not  defunct,  only  unfashionable. 
Every  choir  in  England  has  sung 
them,  and  can  sing  them,  after  a  fash- 
ion :  so,  at  twelve  o'clock  to-morrow, 
look  out — for  squalls  !" 

He  mounted  his  horse,  rode  into 
the  cathedral  town  —  distant  eight 
miles — and  arranged  with  the  organ- 
ist for  himself,  four  leading  boys,  and 
three  lay  clerks.  He  was  to  send  a 
carriage  in  for  them  after  the  mcn-iiing 
service,  and  return  them  in  good  time 
for  vespers. 

Fanny  told  Ina  Klosking,  and  she 
insisted  on  getting  up. 

By  this  time  Doctress  Gale  had 
satislied  herself  that  a  little  excitement 
was  downrigiit  good  for  her  ])alient, 
and  led  to  refreshing  sleep.  So  tliev 
dressed  her  loosely  but  very  warmly, 
and  rolled  her  to  the  window  on  her 
invalid  couch,  set  at  a  high  angle. 
It  was  a  fine  clear  day  in  October, 
keen  but  genial ;  and  after  mutHing 
her  well,  they  opened  the  window. 

While  she  sat  tlierc,  propped  high, 
and  inhaling  the  ])iire  aii',  Vizard  con- 
veyed his  little  choir,  by  another  stair- 
case, into  the  antechamber;  and,  uii- 


i;»2 


A  WOMAN-IIA'IER. 


der  liis  advice,  tlicy  avoided  preludes, 
and  opened  in  full  clionis  witli  Jack- 
son's song  of  praise. 

At  the  first  burst  of  sacred  har- 
mony, Ina  Klosking  was  observed  to 
(juivcr  all  over. 

They  sinig  it  rather  coarsely,  but 
correctly  and  boldly,  and  with  a  cer- 
tain fervor.  There  were  no  operatic 
artifices  to  remind  her  of  earth  ;  the 
jjurity  and  the  harmony  struck  her 
full.  The  great  singer  and  sutlerer 
lifted  her  clasped  hands  to  God,  and 
the  tears  flowed  fast  down  her  cheeks. 

These  tears  were  balm  to  tiiat  poor 
lacerated  soul,  tormented  by  many 
blows. 

"  O  lacrymarum  fons,  foiiero  sacros 
Diicemtium  ortus  ex  aniino,  qnater 

Felix,  iu  imo  qui  scateiitciu 
Pectore,  te,  pia  uympha,  scusit." 

Rhoda  Gale,  who  Iiated  music  like 
poison,  crept  up  to  her,  and,  infolding 
her  delicately,  laid  a  pair  of  wet  eyes 
softly  on  her  shoulder. 

Vizard  now  tapped  at  the  door,  and 
was  admitted  from  the  music -room. 
He  begged  Ina  to  choose  another  com- 
position from  her  book.  She  marked 
a  service  and  two  anthems,  and  h.'ind- 
ed  him  the  volume,  but  begged  they 
might  not  be  done  too  soon,  one  aft- 
er the  other.  That  would  be  quite 
enough  for  one  day,  especially  if  they 
would  be  good  enough  to  repeat  tiie 
hymn  of  praise  to  conclude;  "for," 
said  she,  "these  are  tilings  to  be  di- 
gested." 

ISoon  the  boys'  pure  voices  rose 
again,  and  those  poor  dead  English 
composers,  with  prosaic  names,  found 
their  way  again  to  the  great  foreign 
singer's  soul. 

They  stmg  an  anthem,  which  is 
now  especially  despised  by  those  great 
critics,  the  organists  of  the  country — 
"  My  Song  shall  be  of  Mercy  and 
Judgment." 

The  Klosking  forgave  the  thinness 
of  the  harmony,  and  many  little  faults 
in  the  vocal  execution.  The  words, 
no  doidit,  went  far  with  her,  being 
clearly  spoken.     She  sat  meditating, 


with  lier  moist  eyes  raised,  and  her 
face  transfigured,  and  at  the  end  she 
murmured  to  Vizard,  with  her  eyes 
still  raised,  "After  all,  they  are  great 
and  jiious  words,  and  the  music  has 
at  least  this  crowning  virtue — it  means 
the  words."  Then  she  suddenly  turn- 
ed upon  him,  and  said,  "There  is  an- 
other person  in  this  house  who  needs 
this  consolation  as  much  as  I  do. 
Why  does  she  not  come?  I5ut  per- 
haps she  is  with  the  musicians." 

"  Whom  do  you  mean  ?" 

"Your  sister." 

"  Why,  she  is  not  in  the  house." 

Ina  Klosking  started  at  that  infor- 
mation, and  bent  her  eyes  keenly  and 
in(|uiringly  on  him. 

"  She  left  two  days  ago." 

"Indeed!" 

"To  nurse  a  sick  aunt." 

"Indeed!  Had  she  no  other  rea- 
son ?" 

"Not  that  I  know  of,"  said  Viz- 
ard ;  but  he  could  not  help  coloring  a 
little. 

The  little  choir  now  sung  a  service, 
King  in  F.  They  sung  "The  Mag- 
nificat" rudely,  and  rather  profanely, 
but  recovered  themselves  in  the"lii- 
mittis." 

When  it  was  over,  Ina  whispered, 
"'To  be  a  light  to  lighten  the  Gen- 
tiles.' That  is  an  insjnrcd  duet.  Oh, 
how  it  might  be  sung!" 

"Of  course  it  might,"  whispered 
Vizard;  "so  you  have  something  to 
get  well  for." 

"Yes,  my  friend — thanks  to  you 
and  your  sainted  mother." 

This,  uttered  in  a  voice  which, 
under  the  healing  influence  of  music, 
seemed  to  have  regained  some  of  its 
rich  melody,  was  too  much  for  our 
cynic,  and  he  bustled  ort'  to  hide  his 
emotion,  and  invited  the  musicians  to 
Unich. 

All  the  servants  had  been  listening 
on  the  stairs,  and  the  hospitable  old 
btitlei'  plied  the  boys  with  sparkling 
Moselle,  which,  being  himself  reared 
on  mighty  Port,  he  tliought  a  light 
and  jilayfid  wine — just  the  thing  for 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


193 


women  and  children.  So  after  lunch- 
eon they  sung  rather  wild,  and  the 
Kloskiiig  told  Vizard,  dryly,  that 
woidil  do  fov  tlie  jiiesent. 

Tlien  he  ordered  the  carriage  for 
them,  and  asked  Mademoiselle  Klos- 
king  when  she  would  like  them 
again. 

"When  can  I?"  she  inquired, 
rather  timidly. 

"  ICvery  dav,  if  vou  like — Sundays 
and  all." 

"  I  must  he  content  with  every  oth- 
er day." 

Vizard  said  he  would  arrange  it  so, 
and  was  leaving  her;  hut  she  hegged 
him  to  stay  a  moment. 

"She  woukl  be  safer  here,"  said 
she,  very  gravely. 

Vizard  was  taken  aback  by  the  sud- 
denness of  this  return  to  a  topic  he 
was  simple  enougii  to  think  she  had 
abandoned.  However,  he  said,  "She 
is  safe  enough.  I  have  taken  care  of 
that,  you  may  be  sure." 

"You  have  done  well,  sir,"  said 
Ina.  very  gravely. 

She  said  no  more  to  him;  but  just 
before  dinner  Fanny  came  in,  and 
Miss  Gale  went  for  a  walk  in  tiie 
garden.  Ina  pinned  Fanny  directly. 
"Where  is  Miss  Vizard?"  said  she, 
quietly. 

Fanny  colored  up  ;  but  seeing  in  a 
moment  that  fibs  would  be  dangerous, 
said,  mighty  carelessly,  "She  is  at 
Aunt  Maitiand's." 

"Where  does  she.  live,  dear?" 

*'  In  a  pokv  little  place  called 
'Somerville  Villa.'" 

"Far  from  this?" 

"Not  very.  It  is  forty  miles  by 
the  railway,  but  not  thirty  l)y  the 
road  ;  and  Zoe  went  in  the  barouche 
all  the  way." 

Mademoiselle  Klosking  thought  a 
little,  and  then  taking  Famiy  Dover's 
liaiui,  said  to  iier,  very  sweetly,  "  I  beg 
you  to  honor  me  with  your  confidence, 
and  tell  me  something.  Helieve  me, 
it  is  for  no  sellisli  motive  I  a^k  you; 
but  I  think  Miss  Vizard  is  in  danger. 
She  is  too  far  from  her  brother,  and 
9 


too  far  from  me.  Mr.  Vizard  says 
she  is  safe.  Now,  can  you  tell  me 
what  he  means?  How  can  she  be 
safe?  Is  her  heart  turned  to  stone, 
like  mine?" 

"  No,  indeed,"  said  Fanny.  "  Yes, 
I  will  be  frank  with  you ;  for  I  be- 
lieve you  are  wiser  than  any  one  of 
us.  Zoe  is  not  safe,  left  to  herself. 
Her  heart  is  any  thing  but  stone : 
and  Heaven  knows  what  wild,  mad 
thing  she  might  be  led  into.  But  I 
know  perfectly  well  what  Vizard 
means :  no,  I  don't  like  to  tell  it  you 
all ;   it  will  give  you  pain." 

"  Tiiere  is  little  hope  of  that.  I  am 
past  pain." 

"Well,  then— Miss  Gale  will  scold 
me." 

"No,  she  shall  not." 

"Oh,  I  know  you  have  got  the 
upper  hand  even  of  her;  so  if  you 
promise  I  shall  not  be  scolded,  I'll 
tell  you.  You  see,  I  had  my  misgiv- 
ings about  this  very  thing;  and  as 
soon  as  Vizard  came  home — it  was 
he  who  took  her  to  Aunt  Maitland — I 
askeil  him  what  precautions  he  had 
taken  to  hinder  that  man  fnjin  getting 
hold  of  her  again.  Well,  then — oh,  I 
ought  to  have  begun  by  telling  you 
.Mr.  Severne  forgeil  bills  to  get  money 
out  of  Harrington." 

"  Good  heavens  I" 

"Oil,  Harrington  will  never  punish 
him,  if  he  keeps  his  distance;  but  he 
lias  advertised  in  all  the  papers,  warn- 
ing iiim  that  if  he  sets  foot  in  IJarford- 
shire  he  will  be  arrested  and  sent  to 
prison. " 

Ina  Klosking  shook  her  head. 
"  When  a  man  is  in  love  with  such  a 
woman  as  that,  dangers  could  hardly 
deter  him." 

"That  depends  upon  the  man,  I 
think.  But  Ilanington  has  done  bet- 
ter than  that.  He  has  provided  her 
with  a  watch -dog  —  the  best  of  all 
watch -dogs  —  another  lover.  Lord 
Uxmoor  lives  near  Aunt  Maitland, 
and  he  adores  Zoe;  so  Harrington 
has  commissioned  him  to  watch  her, 
and  cure  her,  and  all.     I  wish   he'd 


194 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


cure  me — an  earl's  coronet  and  twen- 
ty thousand  a  year!" 

"You  relieve  my  mind,"  said  Ina. 
Then,  after  a  pause — "But  let  me 
ask  you  one  question  more.  Why 
did  you  not  tell  me  Miss  Vizard  was 
gone  ?" 

'■  I  don't  know,"  said  Fanny,  color- 
ing up.      "5/ie  told  me  not." 

'•Who?" 

"Why,  the  Vixen  in  command. 
She  orders  every  body." 

"And  whv  did  she  forbid  you?" 

"Don't  know." 

"Yes,  you  do.  Kiss  me,  dear. 
There,  I  will  distress  you  with  no 
more  questions.  Why  should  I?  Our 
instincts  seMom  deceive  us.  Well,  so 
be  it :  I  have  something  more  to  get 
well  for,  and  I  will." 

Fanny  looked  up  at  her  inquiring- 
ly. 

"Yes,"  said  she;  "the  daughter 
of  this  hospitable  house  will  nevei-  re- 
turn to  it  while  I  am  in  it.  Poor 
girl;  she  thinks  she  is  the  injmed 
woman.  So  be  it.  I  will  get  well — 
and  leave  it." 

Fanny  communicated  this  to  Miss 
Gale,  and  all  slie  said  was, "She  shall 
go  no  farther  than  Hillstoke,  tlien ; 
for  I  love  her  better  than  any  man 
can  love  her." 

Fanny  did  not  tell  Vizard  ;  and  he 
was  downiight  happy,  seeing  the  wom- 
an he  loved  recover,  by  slow  degrees, 
her  health,  her  strength,  her  color,  her 
voice.  Parting  was  not  threatened. 
He  did  not  rcMlize  that  they  should 
ever  part  at  all.  He  had  vague 
hopes  that,  while  she  was  under  his 
roof,  opportunity  might  stand  his 
friend,  and  she  might  requite  his  af- 
fection. All  this  would  not  bear 
looking  into  very  closely:  for  that 
very  reason  he  took  particular  care 
not  to  look  into  it  very  closely ;  but 
hoped  all  things,  and  was  happy.  In 
this  condition  he  received  a  little 
shock. 

A  one-horse  fly  was  driven  up  to 
the  door,  and  a  card  brought  in — 


"Mr.  Joseph  Ashmead." 

Vizard  was  always  at  home  at  Viz- 
ard Court,  except  to  convicted  Bores. 
Mr.  Ashmead  was  shown  into  his 
study. 

Vizard  knew  him  at  a  glance. 
The  velveteen  coat  had  yielded  to 
tweed ;  but  another  loud  tie  had  suc- 
ceeded to  the  one  "that  tired  the  air 
at  Homburg. "  There,  too,  was  the 
wash  -  leather  face,  and  other  traits 
Vizard  professed  to  know  an  actress's 
lover  by.  Yes,  it  was  the  very  man 
at  sight  of  whom  he  had  fought  down 
his  admiration  of  La  Klosking,  and 
declined  an  introduction  to  !)er.  Viz- 
ard knew  the  lady  better  now.  But 
still  he  was  a  little  jealous  even  of  her 
acquaintances,  and  thought  tiiis  one 
unworthy  of  her  ;  so  he  received  him 
with  stiff  but  guarded  politeness,  leav- 
ing him  to  open  his  business. 

Ashmead,  overawed  by  the  avenue, 
the  dozen  gables,  four-score  chimneys, 
etc.,  addressed  him  rather  obsequious- 
ly, but  with  a  certain  honest  trouble, 
tiiat  soon  softened  the  l)ad  impression 
caused  by  his  appearance. 

"Sir,"  said  he,  "pray  excuse  this 
intrusion  of  a  stranger,  but  I  am  in 
great  anxiety.  It  is  not  for  myself, 
hut  for  a  laily,  a  very  distinguished 
lady,  whose  interests  I  am  charged 
with.  It  is  Mademoiselle  Klosking, 
the  famous  singer." 

Vizard  maintained  a  grim  silence. 

"  You  tnnv  have  heard  of  her." 

"I  have."" 

"  I  iihnost  fancy  you  once  heard  her 
sing— at  IIond)urg." 

"I  did." 

"  Then  I  am  sure  you  must  have 
admired  her,  being  a  gentleman  of 
taste.  Well,  sir,  it  is  near  a  fortnight 
since  I  heard  from  her." 

"Well,  sir?" 

"  You  will  say  what  is  that  to  you? 
But  the  truth  is,  she  left  me,  in  Lon- 
don, to  do  certain  business  for  her, 
and  she  went  down  to  this  very  place. 
I  offered  to  come  with  her,  but  she 
declined.     To  be  sure,  it  was  a  deli- 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


195 


cate  mattei",  and  not  at  all  in  my  way. 
She  was  to  write  to  me  and  report 
progress,  and  give  me  her  address, 
that  I  might  write  to  her ;  but  near- 
ly a  fortnight  has  passed.  I  have  not 
received  a  single  letter.  I  am  in  real 
distress  and  anxiety.  A  great  career 
awaits  her  in  England,  sir ;  but  this 
silence  is  so  mysterious,  so  alarming, 
that  I  begin  actually  to  hope  she  has 
played  the  fool,  and  thrown  it  all  up, 
and  gone  abroad  with  that  black- 
guard." 

"What  blackguard,  sir?" 
Joseph  drew  in  his  horns.  "I 
spoke  too  quick,  sir,"  said  he  ;  "  it  is 
no  business  of  mine.  But  tliese  brill- 
iant women  are  as  mad  as  the  rest  in 
throwing  away  their  affections.  They 
prefer  a  blackguard  to  a  good  man. 
It  is  the  rule.  Excuse  my  plain- 
speaking." 

" Mr.  Ashmead,"  said  Vizard,  "I 
may  be  able  to  answer  j'our  questions 
about  tins  lady ;  but,  before  I  do  so, 
it  is  right  I  should  know  how  far  you 
possess  her  confidence.  To  speak 
plainly,  have  you  any  objection  to  tell 
me  what  is  the  precise  relation  be- 
tween you  and  her?" 

"Certainly  not,  sir.     I  am  her  the- 
atrical agent." 
"Is  that  all?" 

"Not  quite.  I  have  been  a  good 
deal  about  her  lately,  and  iiave  seen 
her  in  deep  distress.  I  think  I  may 
almost  say  I  am  her  friend,  though  a 
veiy  humlilc  one." 

Vizard  did  not  yet  quite  realize  the 
truth  that  this  Bohemian  had  in  his 
heart  one  holy  spot — his  pure  devotion 
and  unsexual  friendshii)  for  that  great 
artist.  Still,  his  prejudices  were  dis- 
armed, and  he  said,  "Well,  Mr.  Ash- 
mead, excuse  my  cross -questioning 
you.  I  will  now  give  myself  the  pleas- 
ure of  setting  your  anxieties  at  rest. 
Mademoiselle  Klosking  is  in  this 
iiouse." 

Asimiead  stared  at  him,  and  then 
broke  out,  "In  this  house!  Oh, 
Lord  !     How  can  that  be  ?' 

"It  happened  in  a  way  very  dis- 


tressing to  us  all,  though  the  result 
is  now  so  delightfid.  Mademoiselle 
Klosking  called  here  on  a  business 
with  which,  perhaps,  you  are  acquaint- 
ed." 

"lam,  sir." 

"Unfortunately  she  met  with  an 
accident  in  my  very  hall,  an  accident 
that  endangered  her  life,  sir  ;  and  of 
course  we  took  cliarge  of  her.  She 
has  had  a  zealous  ])hysician  and  good 
nurses,  and  she  is  recovering  slowly. 
She  is  quite  out  of  danger,  but  still 
weak.  I  have  no  doubt  she  will  be 
delighted  to  see  you.  Only,  as  we 
are  all  under  the  orders  of  her  physi- 
cian, and  that  physician  is  a  woman, 
and  a  bit  of  a  vixen,  you  must  allow 
me  to  go  and  consult  her  first." 

Vizard  retired,  leaving  Joseph  hap- 
py, but  mystified. 

He  was  not  long  alone.  In  less 
than  a  minute  he  had  for  companions 
some  well-buttered  sandwiches  made 
with  smoked  ham,  and  a  bottle  of  old 
Madeira.  The  solids  melted  in  his 
mouth,  the  liquid  ran  through  his 
veins  like  oil  charged  with  electricity 
and  elixir  vitce. 

By-and-by  a  female  servant  came 
for  him,  and  ushered  him  into  Ina 
Klosking's  room. 

She  received  him  with  undisguised 
affection,  and  he  had  much  ado  to 
keep  from  crying.  She  mjide  him  sit 
down  near  her  in  the  vast  embrasin-e 
of  tlie  window,  and  gave  him  a  letter 
to  read  she  had  just  written  to  him. 

They  compared  notes  very  rapidly; 
but  tiieir  discoiu'se  will  not  be  given 
here,  because  so  much  of  it  would  be 
repetition. 

They  were  left  alone  to  talk,  and 
they  did  talk  for  more  than  an  hour. 
The  first  interruption,  indeed,  was  a 
recitativo  with  chords,  followed  by  a 
verse  from  the  leading  treble. 

Mr.  Ashmead  looked  puzzled  ;  the 
Klosking  eyed  him  demurely. 

Before  the  anthem  conchuied,  ^'iz- 
ard  tapjied,  and  was  admitted  from 
the  music  -  room.  Ina  smiled,  and 
waved  him  to  a  chair.     Both  the  men 


196 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


saw,  by  her  manner,  they  were  not  to 
utter  a  sound  wliile  tlie  music  was 
going  on.  When  it  ceased,  siie  said, 
"  J)o  you  appiove  that,  my  friend  ?" 

"  Ifit  pleases  you,  madam, "rephed 
tlie  wary  Ashmead. 

"It  does  more  than  please  me ;  it 
does  me  good." 

"  That  reconciles  me  to  it  at  once.'" 

"  Oil,  then  you  do  not  admire  it  for 
itself."' 

"  Not — very — much." 

"Pray,  speak  plainly.  I  am  not  a 
tyrant,  t(j  impose  my  tastes." 

"  Well  then,  madam,  I  feel  very 
grateful  to  any  thing  tiiat  does  you 
good :  otherwise,  I  slionld  say  the 
music  was  —  rather  dreaiT  ;  and  the 
singing — very  insipid." 

The  open  struggle  between  .Foseph's 
honesty  and  his  awe  of  the  Klosking 
tickled  Vizard  so  that  he  leaned  back 
in  his  chair  and  laughed  heartily. 

The  Klosking  smiled  superior. 
"He  means,"  said  she,  "that  the 
music  is  not  operatic,  and  the  boys  do 
not  clasp  their  hands,  and  shake  their 
shoulders,  and  sing  passionately,  as 
women  do  in  a  theatre.  Heaven  for- 
bid they  should!  If  this  world  is  nil 
passion,  there  is  anotiier  which  is  all 
peace  ;  and  these  boys'  sweet,  artless 
tones  are  the  nearest  thing  we  shall 
get  in  this  world  to  the  tniinipassioned 
voices  of  the  angels.  They  are  fit  in- 
struments for  pious  words  set  by  com- 
posers, who,  however  obscure  they 
may  he,  were  men  inspired,  and  have 
written  immortal  strains,  which,  as  I 
hear  them,  seem  hardly  of  this  world 
— they  are  so  free  from  all  mortal 
dross." 

Vizard  assented  warmly.  Ashmead 
askcil  permission  to  hear  aiiotiier. 
Thev  sung  the  "  Magnificat "  by  King, 
in  F. 

"Upon  my  word,"  said  Ashmead, 
"  there  is  a  good  deal  of 'go  '  in  that." 

Then  they  sung  the  "  Nunc  Dimit- 
tis."  He  said,  a  little  dryly,  there 
was  plenty  of  repose  in  that. 

"  My  friend,"  said  she,  "  there  is — 
to  the  honor  of  the  composer :    the 


'Magnificat'  is  the  bright  and  lofty 
exultation  of  a  young  woman  who  has 
borne  tlie  Messiah,  and  does  not  fore- 
see ids  suft'erings,  only  the  boon  to  the 
world  and  the  glory  to  herself.  But 
the  '  Dimittis  '  is  the  very  ojiposite.  It 
is  a  gentle  joy,  and  the  world  content- 
edly resigned  by  a  good  old  man,  fa- 
tigued, who  has  run  his  race,  and  longs 
to  sleej)  after  life's  fever.  When  ne.xt 
you  have  the  good  fortune  to  hear  tiiat 
song,  tiiink  you  see  the  sun  descend- 
ing red  and  calm  after  a  day  of  storms, 
and  an  aged  Christian  saying,  'Good- 
night,' and  you  will  honor  ])oor  dead 
King  as  I  do.  The  music  that  truly 
reflects  great  words  was  never  yet 
small  music,  write  it  who  may." 

"  You  areriglit,  madam, "said  Ash- 
mead. "  When  I  doubted  its  being 
good  music,  I  suppose  I  meant  sala- 
ble." 

"Ah,  voila!"  said  the  Klosking. 
Then,  turidng  to  Vizard  for  sympa- 
thy, "What  this  faithful  friend  under- 
stands by  good  music  is  nuisic  that 
can  be  sold  for  a  good  deal  of  money." 

"That  is  so,''  said  Ashmead,  stout- 
ly. "I  am  a  theatrical  agent.  You 
can't  make  a  silk  iinrse  out  of  a  sow's 
ear.  You  have  tried  it  more  than 
once,  you  know,  but  it  would  not 
work. 

Ashmead  amused  Vizard,  and  he 
took  him  into  his  study,  and  iiad  some 
more  conversation  with  him.  He  even 
asked  him  to  stay  in  the  house;  but 
Asiimead  was  siiy,  and  there  was  a 
theatre  at  Tadilington.  !So  he  said 
he  had  a  good  deal  of  business  to  do; 
lie  bad  better  make  the  "Swan"  his 
head-qnarters.  "I  shall  be  at  your 
service  all  the  same,  sir,  or  Mademoi- 
selle Klosking's." 

"Have  a  glass  of  Madeira,  Mr. 
Asiimead." 

"  Well,  sir,  to  tell  the  truth,  I  have 
had  one  or  two." 

"Then  it  knows  the  road." 

"Y'ou  are  very  good,  sir.  What 
Madeira!  Is  this  the  wine  the  doc- 
tors ran  down  a  few  years  ago  ?  They 
couldn't  have  tasted  it." 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


197 


"Well,  it  is  like  ourselves,  improved 
bv  traveling.  Tluit  lias  been  twice  to 
India." 

"  It  will  never  go  again,  past  me," 
said  Aslimead,  gayly.  "My  mouth 
is  a  cape  it  uili  never  weather," 

He  went  to  his  inn. 

Before  he  had  been  there  ten  min- 
utes, np  rattled  a  smart  servant  in  a 
smart  dog-cart. 

"Hamper  —  for  Joseph  Ashmead, 
Esquire." 

"Any  thing  to  pay?" 

"What  for?- — it's  from  Vizard 
Court." 

And  the  dog-cart  rattled  away. 

Joseph  was  in  the  hall,  and  wit- 
nessed this  phenomenon.  He  said  to 
himself,  "  I  wish  I  had  a  vast  ac- 
quaintance  ALL  COUNTRY  GENTLE- 
MEN." 

That  afternoon  Ina  Klosking  in- 
sisted on  walking  up  and  down  the 
room,  supported  by  Mademoiselles 
Gale  and  Dover,  '['he  result  was  fa- 
tigue and  sleep  ;  that  is  all. 

"'I'o-mori-ow,"  said  she,  "I  will 
have  but  one  live  crutch.  I  must  and 
will  recover  my  strengtii." 

In  tiie  evening  she  insisted  on  both 
ladies  dining  with  Mr.  Vizard.  Here, 
too,  she  had  her  way. 

Vizard  was  in  very  good  spirits, 
and,  when  the  servants  were  gone, 
complimented  .Miss  Gale  on  her  skill. 

"  Our  skill,  you  mean,"  said  she. 
"It  was  you  who  prescribed  this  new 
medicine  of  the  mind,  the  psalms  and 
hymns  and  s]iiritual  songs  ;  and  it  was 
you  who  administered  the  Ashmead, 
and  he  made  her  laugh,  oi-  nearly — 
and  that  we  have  never  been  able  to 
do.  She  must  take  a  fnw  grains  of 
Ashmead  every  day.  The  worst  of  it 
is,  1  am  afraid  we  shall  cure  her  too 
quickly;  and  then  we  shall  lose  her. 
But  that  was  to  be  expected.  I  am 
very  unfortunate  in  my  attachments; 
I  always  was.  If  I  fall  in  love  with  a 
woman,  she  is  sure  to  hate  me,  or  else 
die,  or  else  Hy  away.  1  love  this  one 
to  distraction,  so  she  is  sure  to  desert 


me,  because  she  couldn't  misbehave, 
and  I  won't  let  her  die." 

"Well,"  said  Vizard,  "you  know 
what  to  do — retard  the  cure.  That  is 
one  of  the  arts  of  your  profession." 

"And  so  it  is ;  but  how  can  1,  when 
I  love  her?  No,  we  must  have  re- 
course to  our  benevolent  tyrant  again. 
He  must  get  Miss  Vizard  back  here, 
before  my  goddess  is  well  enough  to 
spread  her  wings  and  fly." 

Vizard  looked  puzzled.  "This," 
said  he,  "sounds  like  a  riddle,  or  fe- 
male logic." 

"  It  is  both,"  said  Rhoda.  "  Miss 
Dover,  give  him  the  7not  d'e'nigme. 
I'm  off — to  the  patient  I  adore." 

She  vanisiied  swiftly,  and  Vizard 
looked  to  Fanny  for  a  solution.  But 
Fanny  seemed  rather  ve.xed  with  Miss 
Gale,  and  said  nothing.  Then  he 
pressed  her  to  explain. 

She  answered  him,  with  a  certain 
reluctance,  "Mademoiselle  Klosking 
has  taken  into  her  head  that  Zoe  will 
never  return  to  this  house  while  she 
is  in  it." 

"  Who  put  that  into  her  head,  now  ?" 
said  Vizard,  bitterly. 

' '  Nobody,  upon  my  honor.  A  wom- 
an's instinct." 

"Well?" 

"She  is  horrified  at  the  idea  of  keep- 
ing your  sister  out  of  her  own  house, 
so  she  is  getting  well  to  go;  and  the 
strength  of  her  will  is  such  that  she 
?ci//get  well." 

"All  the  better;  but  Zoe  will  soon 
get  tired  of  Somerville  Villa.  A  lit- 
tle persuasion  will  bring  her  home, 
especially  if  you  weie  to  oll'er  to  take 
her  place." 

"Oh,  I  would  do  that,  to  oblige 
you,  Harrington,  if  I  saw  any  good  at 
tiie  end  of  it.  But  ])lease  think  twice. 
How  can  Zoe  and  that  lady  ever  stay 
imder  the  same  roof?  How  can  they 
meet  at  your  table,  and  speak  to  each 
other?     Thoy  are  rivals." 

"They  aie  both  getting  cured,  and 
neither  will  ever  see  the  villain  again." 

"I  hope  not;  but  who  can  tell? 
Well,  never  mind  them.     If  their  eves 


198 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


are  not  opened  by  tliis  time,  they  will 
get  no  pity  from  me.  It  is  you  I  think 
of  now."  'riien,  in  a  hesitating  way, 
and  her  cheeks  mantling  higher  and 
higher  witli  iionest  hluslies — "Yon 
have  surt'ered  enough  already  from 
women.  1  know  it  is  not  my  busi- 
ness, but  it  does  grieve  me  to  see  you 
going  into  trouble  again.  What  good 
can  come  of  it  ?  Her  connection  with 
that  man,  so  recent,  and  so — strange. 
The  world  luill  interpret  its  own  way. 
Your  position  in  the  county  —  every 
eye  upon  you.  I  see  the  way  in — no 
doubt  it  is  strewed  with  flowers ;  but 
I  see  no  way  out.  Be  brave  in  tiine, 
Harrington.  It  will  not  be  the  first 
time.  She  must  be  a  good  woman, 
somehow,  or  faces,  eyes,  and  voices, 
and  ways,  are  all  a  lie.  But  if  she  is 
good,  she  is  very  unfortunate ;  and  she 
will  give  you  a  sore  heart  for  life,  if 
you  don't  mind.  I'd  clench  my  teeth 
and  shut  my  eyes,  and  let  her  go  in 
time." 

Vizard  groaned  aloud,  and  at  that  a 
tear  or  two  lolled  down  Fanny's  burn- 
ing cheeks. 

"You  are  a  good  little  girl,"  said 
Vizard,  affectionately;  "but  I  can 
not." 

He  hung  his  head  despondently,  and 
muttered,  "  I  see  no  way  out  either. 
But  I  yield  to  fate.  I  feared  her,  and 
fled  from  her.  She  has  followed  me. 
I  can  resist  no  more.  I  drift.  Some 
men  never  know  happiness.  I  shall 
have  had  a  hapj)y  fortnight,  at  all 
events.  I  thank  you,  and  respect  you 
for  your  advice ;  but  I  can't  take  it. 
So  now  I  suppose  you  will  be  too  much 
offended  to  oblige  me." 

"Oh  dear,  no." 

"  Would  you  mind  writing  to  Aunt 
Maitlaiul,  and  saying  you  would  like 
to  take  Zoe's  place?" 

"I  will  do  it  with  pleasure  to  oblige 
you.  Besides,  it  will  be  a  fib,  and  it 
is  so  long  since  I  have  told  a  good  fib. 
When  sliail  I  write?" 

"Oh,  about  the  end  of  the  week." 

"Yes,  that  will  be  time  enough. 
Miss  Gale  won't  let  her  go  till  next 


week.  Ah,  after  all,  how  nice  and 
natural  it  is  to  be  naughty !  Fibs  and 
flirtation,  welcome  home !  This  is  the 
beauty  of  being  good  —  and  I  shall 
recommend  it  to  all  my  friends  on  this 
very  account  —  you  can  always  leave 
it  off  at  a  moment's  notice,  without 
any  trouble.  Now,  naughtine.ss  sticks 
to  you  like  a  burr." 

So,  with  no  more  ado,  this  new 
Mentor  became  Vizard's  accomplice, 
and  they  agreed  to  get  Zoe  back  be- 
fore the  Klosking  could  get  strong 
enough  to  move  with  her  physician's 
consent. 

As  the  hamper  of  Madeira  was  land- 
ed in  the  hall  of  the  "Swan"  inn,  a 
genial  voice  cried,  "You  are  in  luck." 
Ashmead  turned,  and  there  was  Poi- 
kilus  peering  at  him  from  the  door- 
way of  the  commercial  room. 

"  What  is  the  game  now?"  thought 
Ashmead.  But  what  he  said  was, 
"  Why,  I  know  that  face.  I  declare, 
it  is  the  gent  that  treated  me  at  Hom- 
burg.  Bring  in  the  hamper,  Dick." 
Then  to  Poikilus,  "Have  ye  dined 
yet?" 

"  No.  Going  to  dine  in  half  an 
hour.  Roast  gosling.  Just  enough 
for  two." 

"We'll  divide  it,  if  you  like,  and 
I'll  stand  a  bottle  of  old  Madeira. 
My  old  friend,  Squire  Vizard,  has  just 
.sent  it  me.  I'll  just  have  a  splash  ; 
dinner  will  be  ready  by  then."  He 
bustled  out  of  the  room,  but  said,  as 
he  went,  "I  say,  old  man,  open  the 
hamper,  and  put  two  bottles  just  with- 
in the  smile  of  the  fire." 

He  then  went  uj)stairs,  and  plunged 
his  head  in  cold  water,  to  clear  his 
faculties  for  the  encounter. 

The  friends  sat  down  to  dinner,  and 
afterward  to  the  Madeira,  both  gay 
and  genial  outside,  but  within  full  of 
design  —  their  object  being  to  pump 
each  other. 

In  the  encounter  at  Tlomburg,  Ash- 
mead had  an  advantage;  Poikilus 
tliought  himself  unknown  to  Ashmead. 
But  this  time  there  was  a  change. 


A  WOMAN-HATEK. 


199 


Poikilus  knew  by  this  time  that  La 
Klosking  had  gone  to  Vizard  Court. 
How  slie  had  known  Severne  was 
tliere  puzzled  him  a  good  deal ;  but 
he  had  ended  by  suspecting  Aslimead, 
in  a  vague  way. 

The  parties,  therefore,  met  on  even 
terms.  Ashme.id  resolved  to  learu 
what  lie  could  about  Severne,  and  Poi- 
kilus to  learn  what  he  could  about  Zoe 
Vizard  and  Mademoiselle  Klosking. 

Aslimead  opened  the  ball:  "Been 
long  here  ?" 

"Just  come." 

"Business?" 

"Yes.  Want  to  see  if  there's  any 
chance  of  my  getting  paid  for  that 
job." 

"What  job?" 

"  Why,  the  Ilomburg  job.  Look 
here — I  don't  know  why  I  should  have 
any  secrets  from  a  good  fellow  like 
vou  ;  only  you  must  not  tell  any  body 
else." 

"Oh,  honor  bright!" 

"  Well,  then,  I  am  a  detective." 

"Ye  don't  mean  that?" 

"I'mPoikihis." 

"Good  heavens!  Well,  I  don't 
care.  I  haven't  murdered  any  body. 
Here's  your  health,  Poikilus.  I  say, 
you  could  tell  a  tale  or  two." 

"I'hat  1  could.  But  I'm  out  of 
luck  this  time.  The  gentleman  that 
employed  me  has  mizzled,  and  he 
promised  me  fifty  pounds.  I  came 
down  here  in  hopes  of  finding  him. 
Saw  him  once  in  this  neigliborhood." 

"AVell,  you  won't  find  him  here,  I 
don't  think.  You  must  excuse  me, 
but  your  employer  is  a  villain.  He 
has  knocketl  a  lady  down,  and  nearly 
killed  her." 

"You  don't  say  that?" 

"Yes;  that  beautiful  lady,  the 
<  singer,  you  saw  in  Ilomburg.  " 

"  What !  the  lady  that  said  he  should 
have  his  moiiev?" 

"The  same!" 

"Why,  he  must  be  mad." 

"No.     A  scoundrel.      That  is  all." 

"Then  she  won't  give  him  his  mon- 
ey after  that." 


"Not  if  I  can  help  it.  But  if  she 
likes  to  pay  you  your  commission,  I 
shall  not  object  to  that." 

"  You  are  a  good  fellow." 

"  Wiiat  is  more,  I  shall  see  her  to- 
morrow, and  I  will  put  the  question 
to  her  for  you." 

Poikilus  was  profuse  in  his  thanks, 
and  said  he  began  to  think  it  was  his 
only  chance.  Then  he  had  a  misgiv- 
ing. "I  have  no  claim  on  the  lady," 
said  he;  "and  I  am  afraid  I  have 
been  a  bad  friend  to  her.  I  did  not 
mean  it,  though,  and  the  whole  affair 
is  dark  to  me." 

"You  are  not  very  sharp  then,  for 
a  detective,"  said  Asiimead.  "  Well, 
shut  your  motiih  and  open  your  eyes. 
Your  Mr.  Severne  was  the  lady's  lov- 
er, and  preyed  upon  her.  He  left 
her ;  she  was  fool  enough  to  love  him 
still,  and  pined  for  him.  He  is  a 
gambler,  and  was  gambling  by  my 
side  when  Mademoiselle  Khjsking 
came  in  ;  so  he  cut  his  lucky,  and  left 
me  fifty  pounds  to  play  for  him,  and 
she  put  the  pot  on,  and  broke  the 
bank.  I  didn't  know  who  he  was,  but 
we  found  it  out  by  his  photograph. 
Then  you  came  smelling  after  the 
money,  and  we  sold  you  nicely,  my  fine 
detective.  We  made  it  our  business 
to  know  where  you  wrote  to — Vizard 
(^ourt.  She  went  down  there,  and 
found  him  just  going  to  be  married  to 
a  beautiful  young  lad}'.  She  collared 
him.  He  filing  her  down  and  cut  her 
temple  open — nearly  killed  her.  She 
lies  ill  in  the  house,  and  the  other 
voung  lady  is  gone  away  broken-heart- 
ed." 

"Whereto?" 

"How  should  I  know?  What  is 
that  to  you  ?" 

"Why,  don't  you  see?  Wherever 
she  is,  he  won't  be  far  ofi'.  He  likes 
her  best,  don't  he?" 

"It  don't  follow  that  she  likes  him, 
now  she  has  found  him  out.  He  had 
better  not  go  after  her,  or  he'll  pet  a 
skillful  of  broken  bones.  My  friend, 
Squire  Vizard,  is  the  man  to  make 
short  work  with  him,  if  he  caught 


200 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


the  blackguard  spooning  after  his  sis- 
ter." 

"And  serve  him  right.  Slill,  I 
wish  1  knew  where  that  voung  huiy 
is." 

"  I  dare  say  I  could  learn  if  I  made 
it  my  hii>iTie.ss." 

Having  hronglit  tlie  matter  to  that 
point,  I'oikihisleft  it,  and  simply  made 
iiimself  agreeahle.  He  told  Aslimead 
his  e.xijcriences  ;  and  as  they  were, 
many  of  them,  strange  and  dramatic, 
he  kept  him  a  delighted  listener  till 
midnight. 

Tlie  next  day  Aslimead  visited 
Mademoiselle  Klosking,  and  found 
her  walking  np  and  down  the  room, 
with  her  hand  on  Miss  Gale's  shoulder. 

Slie  witiidrew  into  the  emhrasure, 
and  had  some  confidential  talk  with 
him.  As  a  matter  of  course,  he  told 
her  about  I'oikilus,  and  that  he  was 
hiuuing  down  Severne  for  his  money. 

"  Indeed !"  said  the  Klosking. 
"Please  tell  me  eveiy  word  that 
passed  between  you." 

He  did  so,  as  nearly  as  he  could 
remend)er. 

MadenKjiselle  Klosking  leaned  her 
brow  upon  iier  hand  a  considerable 
time  in  thought.  Then  she  turned 
on  Ashmead,  and  said,  quietly,  "  That 
Poikilus  is  still  acting  for  him,  ami 
the  one  thing  they  desire  to  learn  is 
where  to  find  Miss  Vizard,  and  delude 
her  to  her  ruin." 

"No,  no,"  cried  Aslimead,  violent- 
ly ;  but  the  next  moment  his  coun- 
tenance fell.  "You  are  wiser  than 
I  am,"  said  he;  "it  may  be.  Con- 
found the  siieak!  I'll  give  it  him 
next  time  I  see  him !  Why,  he  must 
love  villainy  for  its  own  sake.  I  as 
good  as  .said  you  would  pay  him  liis 
fifty  pounds." 

"What  fifty  pounds?  His  fifty 
pounds  is  a  (alseliood.  like  himself. 
Now,  my  friend,  please  take  my  in- 
structions, mv  positive  instructions." 

"Yes,  madam." 

"You  will  not  change  your  friend- 
ly manner :  show  no  suspicion  nor 
nnger.     If  they  are  cunning,  we  must 


be  wise ;  and  the  wise  always  keep 
their  temper.  You  will  say  Miss 
Vizard  has  gone  to  Ireland,  but  to 
what  part  is  only  known  to  her  broth- 
er. Tell  him  this,  and  be  very  free 
and  coinuiunicative  on  all  other  sub- 
jects; for  lliis  alone  lias  any  impor- 
tance now.  As  for  me,  I  can  easily 
learn  where  t^omerville  Villa  is,  and 
in  a  day  or  two  shall  send  you  to  look 
after  her.  One  thing  is  clear — I  had 
better  lose  no  time  in  recovering  my 
strength.  Well,  my  will  is  strong. 
1  \vill  lose  no  time — your  arm,  mon- 
sieur;" and  she  resumed  her  prome- 
nade. 

Ashmead,  instructed  as  above, 
dined  again  with  the  detective ;  but 
out  of  revenge  gave  him  but  one  bot- 
tle of  Madeira.  As  they  sijJiied  it,  he 
delivered  a  great  many  words ;  and 
in  the  middle  of  them  said,  "Oh, 
by-the-bye,  1  asked  after  that  poor 
young  lady.  Gone  to  Ireland,  but 
they  didn't  know  what  part." 

After  dinner  Ashmead  went  to  the 
theatre.  When  he  came  back  Poiki- 
lus was  gone. 

So  did  Wisdom  baffle  Cunning  that 
time. 

But  Cunning  did  not  really  leave 
the  field  :  that  very  evening  an  aged 
man,  in  green  spectacles,  was  inquir- 
ing about  the  postal  arrangements  to 
Vizard  Court ;  and  next  day  he  might 
have  been  seen,  in  a  back  street  of  Tad- 
dington,  talking  to  the  village  post- 
man, and  afterward  drinking  with  him. 
It  was  Poikilus  gro]iing  his  way. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

A  FEAV  words  avail  to  describe  the 
sluggish  waters  of  the  Dead  Sea,  but 
wliar  pen  can  jiortray  the  Indian  Ocean 
lashed  and  tormented  i)y  a  cyclone? 

Even  so  a  few  words  iiave  sufficed 
to  show  that  Ina  Klosking's  iieait 
was  nil  benumbed  and  tleadened; 
and,  with  the  help  of  insidt,  treach- 
ery, loss    of  blood,  brain -fever,  and 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


201 


self-esteem  rebelling  against  vill;nny, 
had  outlived  its  power  of  suffering 
poignant  torture. 

But  I  can  not  sketch  in  a  few 
words,  nor  paint  in  many,  the  tem- 
pest of  passion  in  Zoe  Vizard.  Yet 
it  is  my  duty  to  try  and  give  the  read- 
er some  little  insiglit  into  tlie  agony, 
ttie  ciianges,  the  fury,  the  grief,  the 
tempest  of  passion,  in  a  virgin  lieart ; 
in  such  a  nature,  the  great  passions 
of  the  inind  often  rage  as  fiercely,  or 
even  more  so,  than  in  older  and  ex- 
perienced women. 

Literally,  Zoe  Vizard  loved  Edward 
Seveine  one  minute  and  hated  him 
the  next ;  g/ive  him  up  for  a  traitor, 
and  then  vowed  to  believe  nothing 
until  she  had  heard  Iiis  exjilanation  ; 
burned  with  ire  at  his  silence,  sicken- 
ed with  dismay  at  his  silence.  Then, 
for  a  while,  love  and  faitli  would  get 
the  upper  hand,  and  she  would  lie 
quite  calm.  Why  should  she  tor- 
ment herself?  An  old  sweetheart, 
abandoned  long  ago,  iiad  come  be- 
tween them ;  he  had,  unfortunately, 
doTie  the  woman  an  injury,  in  his 
wild  endeavor  to  get  away  from  her. 
Well,  wiiat  business  had  she  to  use 
force?  No  douiit  he  was  ashamed, 
afflicted  at  what  he  had  done,  being  a 
man  ;  or  was  in  despair,  seeing  that 
lady  installed  in  her  brother's  house, 
and  her  story,  probai)ly  a  jtarcel  of 
falsehoods,  listened  to. 

Then  she  woidd  have  a  gleam  of 
joy  ;  for  she  knew  lie  had  nor  written 
to  Ina  Klosking.  But  soon  Despond- 
ency came  down  like  a  dark  cloud ; 
for  she  said  to  herself,  "  He  has  left 
us  both.  He  sees  the  woman  he  does 
not  love  will  not  let  liim  have  the  one 
he  does  love  ;  and  so  he  has  lost  iieart, 
and  will  have  no  more  to  say  to  ei- 
ther." 

When  her  thoughts  took  this  turn 
she  would  cry  pitoously  ;  but  not  for 
long.  iSiie  would  dry  her  eyes,  and 
bum  with  wrath  all  rotnid  ;  she  would 
still  hare  her  rival,  but  call  her  lover 
a  coward — a  contemptible  coward. 

After  her  day  of  raging,  and  griev- 
9* 


ing,  and  doubting,  and  fearing,  and 
hoping,  and  despairing,  night  over- 
took her  with  an  exiiausted  body,  a 
bleeding  heart,  and  wee|)ing  eyes. 
She  had  been  so  happy — on  the  very 
brink  of  paradise  ;  and  now  siie  was 
deserted.  Her  ]jillow  was  wet  every 
night.  She  cried  in  her  very  sleep; 
and  when  she  woke  in  the  morning 
her  body  was  always  quivering;  and 
in  the  very  act  of  waking  came  a  hor- 
ror, and  an  instinctive  reluctance  to 
face  the  light  that  was  to  bring  anoth- 
er day  of  misery. 

Such  is  a  fair,  though  loose,  descrip- 
tion of  her  condition. 

The  slight  fillip  given  to  her  spirits 
by  the  journey  did  her  a  morsel  of 
good,  but  it  died  away.  Having  to 
nurse  Aunt  Maitland  did  her  a  little 
good  at  first.  But  she  soon  relapsed 
into  herself  and  became  so  distraite 
that  Aunt  Maitland,  who  was  all  self, 
being  an  invalid,  began  to  speak  sharp- 
ly to  her. 

On  the  second  day  of  her  visit  to 
Somerville  Villa,  as  she  sat  brooding 
at  the  foot  of  her  aimt's  bed,  sudden- 
ly she  heard  horses'  feet,  and  then  a 
ring  at  the  hall -door.  Her  heart 
leaped.  Perhai)s  he  had  come  to  ex- 
plain all.  He  might  not  choose  to 
go  to  Vizard  Court.  Wiiat  if  he  had 
been  watching  as  anxiously  as  her- 
self, and  had  seized  the  first  oppor- 
tunity !  In  a  moment  her  pale  cheek 
rivaled  carmine. 

The  girl  brought  up  a  card — 

"Lord  Uxmoor." 

The  color  died  away  directly.  "Say 
I  am  very  sorry,  but  at  this  moment  I 
can  not  leave  my  aunt." 

The  girl  stared  with  amazement, 
and  took  down  the  message. 

Uxmoor  rode  away. 

Zoe  felt  a  moment's  pleasure.  No, 
if  she  could  not  see  the  rigiit  man, 
she  would  not  see  the  wrong.  That, 
at  least,  was  in  Iier  power. 

Nevertheless,  in  the  cotn'se  of  the 
day,  i-emembering  Uxmoor's  worth, 
and  the  pain   she  had  already  given 


202 


A  WOMAN-HATEH. 


him,  she  was  nlmost  sorry  she  had  in- 
dulgetl  herself  ;it  his  expense. 

ISiiperfliious  contrition!  He  came 
next  diiv,  as  a  matter  of  com-se.  She 
lilied  him  none  tiie  better  for  coming, 
but  slie  went  down-staiis  to  him. 

He  came  toward  her,  but  started 
back  and  uttered  an  exchmiation. 
"You  are  not  well,"  he  said,  in  tones 
of  tenderness  and  dismay. 

"Not  very,"  she  faltered;  for  his 
open,  manly  concern  touched  her. 

"And  you  have  come  here  to  nurse 
this  old  lady  ?  Indeed,  Miss  Vizard, 
you  need  nursing  yourself.  You  know 
it  is  some  time  since  I  had  the  ])leasure 
of  seeing  yon,  and  the  change  is  alarm- 
ing. May  I  send  you  Dr.  Atkins,  my 
mother's  physician  ?" 

"  I  am  nuich  obliged  to  yon.     No." 

"  01),  I  forgot.  You  have  a  jdiysi- 
cian  of  your  own  sex.  Wiiy  is  she 
not  looking  after  you?" 

"Miss  Gale  is  better  employed. 
She  is  at  Vizard  Court  in  attendance 
on  a  far  more  brilliant  person— Made- 
moiselle Klosking,  a  professional  sing- 
er.    Perhaps  yon  know  her?" 

"  I  saw  her  at  Homhiirg." 

"Well,  she  met  with  an  accident 
in  oiH-  hall — a  serious  one;  and  Har- 
rington took  her  in,  and  has  placed  all 
his  resources — his  lady  physician  and 
all — at  her  service :  he  is  so  fond  of 
Music. " 

A  certain  satirical  bitterness  peer- 
ed through  these  words,  but  honest 
Uxmoor  did  not  notice  it.  He  said, 
"  Then  I  wish  you  would  let  me  be 
your  doctor — for  want  of  a  better." 

"And  you  tliink  you  can  cure  me  ?" 
said  Zoe,  satirically. 

"It  does  seem  presumptuous. 
But,  at  least,  I  could  do  you  a  little 
good  if  you  could  be  got  to  try  my 
humble  prescription." 

"What  is  it?"  asked  Zoe,  listless- 
ly. 

"It  is  my  mare  Phillis.  She  is 
the  delight  of  every  lady  who  mounts 
her.  She  is  thorough -l)red,  lively, 
swift,  gentle,  docile,  amiable,  perfect. 
Ride  her  on  these  downs  an  hour  or 


two  every  day.  I'll  send  her  over  to- 
morrow.    May  I  ?" 

"If  you  like.  Kosa  would  pack  up 
my  liding-habit." 

"  llosa  was  a  proj)hetess." 

Next  day  came  Phillis,  saddled,  and 
led  by  a  groom  on  horseback,  and  Ux- 
moor soon  followed  on  an  old  hunter. 
He  lifted  Zoe  to  her  saddle,  and  away 
they  rode,  the  groom  following  at  a 
respectful  distance. 

When  they  got  on  the  downs  they 
had  a  delightful  canter;  hut  Zoe,  in 
her  fevered  state  of  mind,  was  not 
content  with  that.  She  kept  increas- 
ing the  pace,  till  the  old  hunter  could 
no  longer  live  with  the  young  filly; 
and  she  galloped  away  from  Lord  Ux- 
moor, and  made  him  ridiculous  in  the 
eyes  of  his  groom. 

The  truth  is,  she  wanted  to  get 
away  from  him. 

He  drew  the  rein,  and  stood  stock- 
still.  She  made  a  circuit  of  a  mile, 
and  came  up  to  him  with  heightened 
color  and  flashing  eyes,  looking  beau- 
tiful. 

"Well?"  said  she.  "Don't  you 
like  galloping?"' 

"  Yes,  but  I  don't  like  cruelty." 

"Cruelty!" 

"Look  at  the  mare's  tail  how  it  is 
quivering,  and  her  flanks  panting! 
And  no  wonder.  You  have  been  over 
twice  the  Derby  course  at  a  racing 
pace.  Miss  Vizard,  a  horse  is  not  a 
steam-engine." 

"I'll  never  ride  her  again,"  said 
Zoe.  "I  did  not  come  here  to  be 
scolded.     I  will  go  home." 

Tiiey  walked  slowly  jiome  in  si- 
lence. Uxmoor  hardly  knew  what  to 
say  to  her:  but  at  last  he  murmured, 
apologetically,  "Never  mind  the  poor 
mare,  if  you  are  any  better  for  gallop- 
ing her." 

She  waited  a  moment  before  she 
spoke,  and  then  she  said,"  Well,  yes; 
I  am  better.  I'm  better  for  iny  ride, 
and  better  for  my  scolding.  Good- 
bye."    (Meaning  forever.) 

"Good-bye,"  said  he.  in  the  same 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


203 


tone.  Only  he  sent  the  mare  next 
day,  and  followed  her  on  a  young  thor- 
ougli-bred. 

"  Wliat!'"  said  Zoe;  "  am  I  to  have 
another  trial  ?" 

"And  another  after  that." 

So  this  time  she  would  only  canter 
very  slowly,  and  kept  stopping  every 
now  and  then  to  incjuire,  satirically, 
if  that  would  distress  tlie  mare. 

But  Uxmoor  was  too  good-lmmor- 
ed  to  quarrel  for  notlung.  He  only 
langlied,  and  said,  "You  are  not  the 
only  lady  who  takes  a  horse  for  a  ma- 
chine." 

These  rides  did  her  bodily  health 
some  permanent  good ;  but  their  effect 
on  her  mind  was  fleeting.  She  was 
in  fair  spirits  when  she  was  actually 
bounding  through  the  air,  but  she  col- 
lapsed afterward. 

At  first,  when  she  used  to  think 
that  Severne  never  came  near  her. 
and  Uxmoor  was  so  constant,  she  al- 
most hated  Uxmoor  —  so  little  does 
the  wrong  man  profit  by  doing  the 
right  thing  for  a  woman.  I  admit 
that,  though  not  a  deadly  woman-hater 
myself. 

But  by-and-by  she  was  impartially 
bitter  against  tiiem  both ;  the  wrong 
man  for  doing  tlie  right  thing,  and  the 
right  man  for  not  doing  it. 

As  the  days  rolled  ])y,  and  Severne 
did  not  appear,  her  indignation  and 
wounded  pride  began  to  mount  above 
her  love.  A  beautiful  woman  counts 
upon  pursuit,  and  thinks  a  man  less 
than  man  if  he  does  not  love  her  well 
enough  to  find  her,  tliough  liid  in  the 
caves  of  ocean  or  the  labyrinths  of 
Bermondsey. 

She  said  to  herself,  "Then  he  has 
no  explanation  to  offer.  Another 
woman  has  frightened  him  away  from 
me.  I  have  wasted  my  affections  on 
a  coward."  Her  bosom  boiled  with 
love,  and  contempt,  and  wounded 
pride;  and  her  mind  was  tossed  to 
and  fro  like  a  leaf  in  a  storm.  She 
began,  by  force  of  will,  to  give  Ux- 
moor some  encouragement ;  only,  aft- 
er it  she  writhed  and  wept. 


At  last,  finding  herself  driven  to 
and  fio  like  a  leaf,  she  told  Miss 
Maitland  all,  and  sought  counsel  of 
her.  She  must  have  something  to 
lean  on. 

The  old  lady  was  better  by  this 
time,  and  spoke  kindly  to  her.  She 
said  Mr.  Severne  was  charming,  and 
she  was  not  bound  to  give  him  up  be- 
cause another  lady  had  past  claims 
on  him.  But  it  appeared  to  her  that 
Mr.  Severne  himself  had  deserted  lier. 
He  had  not  written  to  her.  Probably 
he  knew  something  that  had  not  yet 
transpired,  and  had  steeled  himself  to 
tiie  separation  for  good  reasons.  It 
was  a  decision  slie  must  accept.  Let 
her  then  consider  how  forlorn  is  the 
condition  of  most  deserted  women 
compared  with  hers.  Here  was  a  de- 
voted lover,  whom  she  esteemed,  and 
who  could  offer  her  a  high  position 
and  an  honest  love.  If  she  had  a 
mother,  that  mother  would  almost 
force  her  to  engage  herself  at  once  to 
Lord  Uxmoor.  Having  no  motlier, 
the  best  thing  she  could  do  would  be 
to  force  herself — to  say  some  irrevoca- 
ble words,  and  never  look  back.  It 
was  the  lot  of  her  sex  not  to  marry 
the  first  love,  and  to  be  all  the  hap- 
pier in  the  end  for  that  disajipoint- 
ment,  tliough  at  the  time  it  always 
seemed  eternal. 

All  this,  spoken  in  a  voice  of  singu- 
lar kindness  by  one  w  ho  used  to  be  so 
sharp,  made  Zoe's  tears  flow  gently, 
and  somewhat  cooled  her  raging  heart. 

She  began  now  to  submit,  and  only 
cry  at  intervals,  and  let  herself  drift ; 
and  Uxmoor  visited  iier  every  day, 
and  she  found  it  impossible  not  to  es- 
teem and  regard  iiim. 

Nevertheless,  one  afternoon,  just 
about  his  time,  slie  was  seized  with 
such  an  aversion  to  his  courtsliip,  and 
such  a  revolt  against  tlie  slope  she 
seemed  gliding  down,  that  she  flung 
on  her  bonnet  and  shawl,  and  darted 
out  of  the  house  to  escape  him.  She 
said  to  the  servant,  "  I  am  gone  for  a 
walk,  if  any  body  calls." 

Uxmoor  did  call,  and,  receiving  this 


204 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


message,  he  bit  his  lip,  sent  the  horse 
iiome,  and  walked  ii))  to  the  windmill, 
on  tlie  cl;aiu'e  of  seeing  her  anywhere. 
He  had  already  observed  she  was  nev- 
er long  in  one  mood  ;  and  as  he  was 
always  in  the  same  mind,  he  thought 
perhaps  he  might  be  tolerably  wel- 
come, if  he  could  meet  her  unex- 
pected. 

Meantime  Zoe  walked  very  fast  to 
get  away  from  the  house  as  soon  as 
possible,  and  she  made  a  round  of 
nearly  five  miles,  walking  through  two 
villages,  and  on  her  I'eturn  lost  her 
way.  However,  a  shejjherd  showed 
her  a  bridle-road  wiiich,  he  told  her, 
would  soon  take  her  to  Somerville 
Villa,  tlirough  "the  small  ])astures;" 
and,  accordingly,  she  came  into  a  suc- 
cession of  meadows  not  very  laige. 
Tiiey  were  all  fenced  and  gated ;  but 
the  gales  were  only  shut,  not  locked. 
This  was  fortunate;  for  they  were 
new  fi\e-barred  gates,  and  a  lad}'  does 
not  like  getting  over  these  even  in  sol- 
itude.    Her  clothes  are  not  adapted. 

There  were  sheep  in  some  of  these, 
cows  in  others,  and  tlie  jiastures  won- 
derfully green  and  rich,  being  always 
well  mantned,  and  fed  down  by  cattle. 

Zoe's  love  of  color  was  soothed  by 
these  emerald  fields,  dotted  with  white 
sheep  and  red  cows. 

In  the  last  field,  before  the  lane  that 
led  to  the  village,  a  single  beast  was 
grazing.  Zoe  took  no  notice  of  him, 
and  walked  on  ;  but  he  took  wonder- 
ful notice  of  lier,  and  stared,  then  gave 
a  disagreeable  snort.  He  took  offense 
at  her  Indian  shawl,  and,  after  paw- 
ing the  ground  and  erecting  his  tail, 
he  came  straight  at  her  at  a  tearing 
trot,  and  his  tail  out  beiiind  him. 

Zoe  saw,  and  screamed  violently, 
and  ran  for  the  gate  ahead,  which,  of 
course,  was  a  few  yards  farther  from 
iier  than  the  gate  behind.  She  ran 
for  her  life  ;  but  the  bull,  when  he  saw 
that,  broke  into  a  gallop  directly,  and 
came  up  fast  with  her.  tjhe  could  not 
escape. 

At  that  moment  a  man  vaulted  clean 
over  the  gate,  tore  a  pitchfork  out  of 


a  heap  of  dung  that  luckily  stood  in 

the  coiner,  and  bol.lly  confronted  the 
raging  bull  just  in  time;  for  at  that 
moment  Zoe  lost  heart,  and  croiu-lied, 
screaming,  in  tlie  side  ditch,  with  her 
hands  before  her  eyes. 

The  new-comer,  rash  as  his  conduct 
seemed,  was  country-bred,  and  knew 
what  he  was  about :  he  drove  a  prong 
clean  through  the  great  cartilage  of 
the  bull's  mouth,  and  was  knockwl 
down  like  a  nine-])in,  \\itli  the  broken 
staff  of  the  jntchfork  in  his  hand  ;  and 
the  bull  reared  in  the  air  with  agony, 
the  prong  having  gone  clean  through 
his  upper  lip  in  two  jilaces,  aiul  fast- 
ened itself,  as  one  fastens  a  pin,  in  that 
leathery  but  sensitive  organ. 

Now  Uxmoor  was  a  university  ath- 
lete; he  was  no  sooner  down  than  up. 
So,  when  the  bull  catne  down  from  his 
rearing,  and  turned  to  massacre  bis  as- 
sailant, he  was  behind  liiui,  and  seiz- 
ing his  tail,  twisted  it,  and  delivered  a 
thundering  blow  on  his  backbone,  and 
followed  it  u})  by  a  shower  of  them  on 
his  ribs.  "Kun  to  the  gate,  Zoe!" 
he  roared.  Whack!  whack!  whack! 
—  "Run  to  the  gate,  I  tell  you!" — 
whack  ! — whack ! — whack ! — whack ! 
— whack ! 

Thus  ordered,  Zoe  Vizard,  who 
would  not  have  moved  of  herself,  be- 
ing in  a  collapse  of  fear,  scudded  to 
the  gate,  got  on  the  right  side  of  it, 
and  looked  over,  with  two  eyes  like 
saucers.  She  saw  a  sight  incredible 
to  her.  Instead  of  letting  the  bidl 
alone,  now  she  was  safe,  Uxmoor  was 
sticking  to  him  like  a  ferret.  The  bull 
ran,  tossing  his  nose  with  pain,  and 
bellowing:  Uxmoor,  dragged  l)y  the 
tail,  and  compelled  to  follow  in  pre- 
posterous, giant  strides,  barely  touch- 
ing the  ground  with  the  point  of  his 
toe,  poinided  the  creature's  ribs  with 
such  blows  as  Zoe  had  never  dreamed 
])ossible.  They  sounded  like  fl;iil  on 
wof)den  floor,  and  each  blow  was  ac- 
companied with  a  loud  jubilant  shout. 
Presently,  being  a  fives  phiyer,  aisd 
ambidexter,  he  shifted  his  hand,  and 
the  tremendous  whacks  resounded  on 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


205 


the  bull's  left  side.  The  bull,  thus  be- 
labored, and  resounding  like  the  big 
drum,  made  a  circuit  of  the  field,  but 
found  it  all  too  iiot :  he  knew  his  way 
to  a  certain  quiet  farm-yard ;  he  bolted, 
and  came  bang  at  Zoe  once  more,  with 
furious  eyes  and  gore-distilling  nos- 
trils. 

But  this  time  she  was  on  the  right 
side  of  the  gate. 

Yet  she  drew  back  in  dismay  as 
the  bull  drew  near  :  and  she  was  right ; 
foi-,  in  his  agony  and  amazement,  the 
unwieldy  but  sinewy  brute  leaped  the 
five-barred  gate,  and  cleared  it  all  but 
the  fop  rail ;  that  he  burst  through,  as 
if  it  had  been  paper,  and  dragged  Ux- 
moor  after  him,  and  pulled  him  down, 
and  tore  him  some  yards  along  the 
hard  road  on  his  back,  and  bumped 
his  head  against  a  stone,  and  so  got 
rid  of  him  :  then  pounded  away  down 
the  lane,  snorting,  and  bellowing,  and 
bleeding:  the  prong  still  stuck  through 
his  nostrils  like  a  pin. 

Zoe  ran  to  Uxmoor  with  looks  of 
alarm  and  tender  concern,  and  lifted 
his  head  to  her  tender  bosom  ;  for  his 
clothes  were  torn,  and  his  cheeks  and 
hands  bleeding.  But  he  soon  shook 
off  his  confusion,  and  rose  without  as- 
sistance. 

"Have  you  got  over  your  fright?" 
said  he;  "that  is  the  question." 

"Oh  yes!  yes!  It  is  only  you  I 
am  alarmed  for.  It  is  much  better  I 
should  be  killed  than  you." 

"Killed!  I  never  had  better  fim 
in  my  life.  It  was  gloi  ious.  I  stuck 
to  him,  and  hit — there,  I  have  not 
had  any  thing  I  could  hit  as  hard  as  I 
wanted  to,  since  I  used  to  fight  with 
my  cousin  Jack  at  Eton.  Oii,  Miss 
Vizard,  it  was  a  whirl  of  Elysium ! 
But  I  am  sorry  you  were  frightened. 
Let  me  take  you  iiome. " 

"Oh  yes,  but  not  that  way;  that 
is  the  way  the  monster  went!"  quiv- 
ered Zoe. 

"  Oil,  he  has  had  enough  of  us." 

"  But  I  have  had  too  much  of  him. 
Take  me  some  other  road — a  hundred 
miles  round.     How  I  tremble!" 


"So  yon  do.  Take  my  arm. — No, 
putting  the  tips  of  your  fingers  on  it 
is  no  use ;  take  it  really — you  want 
support.  Be  courageous,  now  —  we 
are  very  near  home." 

Zoe  trembled,  and  cried  a.  little, 
to  conclude  tiie  incident,  but  walked 
bravely  home  on  Uxmoor's  arm. 

In  the  hall  at  Somerville  Villa  she 
saw  him  change  color,  and  insisted 
on  his  taking  some  Port-wine. 

"I  shall  be  very  glad,"  said  he. 

A  decanter  was  brought.  He  filled 
a  large  tumbler  and  drank  it  off  like 
water. 

This  was  the  first  intimation  he  gave 
Zoe  that  he  was  in  pain,  and  his  nerves 
hard  tried;  nor  did  she  indeed  arrive 
at  that  conclusion  until  he  had  left  her. 

Of  course,  she  carried  all  this  to 
Aunt  Maitland.  Tiiat  lady  was  quite 
moved  by  the  adventure.  She  sat  up 
in  bed.  and  listened  with  excitement 
and  admiration.  She  descanted  on 
Lord  Uxmoor's  courage  and  chivalry, 
and  congratidated  Zoe  that  such  a 
pearl  of  manhood  had  fallen  at  her 
feet.  "  Why,  child,"  said  she,  "sure- 
ly, after  this,  you  will  not  hesitate  be- 
tween this  gentleman  and  a  beggarly 
adventurer,  who  has  nothing,  not  even 
the  courage  of  a  man.  Turn  your 
back  on  all  such  rubbish,  and  be  the 
queen  of  the  county.  I'd  be  content 
to  die  to-morrow  if  I  could  see  you 
Countess  of  Uxmoor." 

"You  shall  live,  and  see  it,  dear 
aunt,"  said  Zoe,  kissing  her. 

"Well,". said  Miss  Maitland,  "if 
any  thing  can  cure  me,  that  will. 
And  really,"  said  she,  "I  feel  better 
ever  since  that  brave  fellow  began  to 
bring yoti  to  your  senses." 

Admiration  and  gratitude  being 
now  added  to  esteem,  Zoe  received 
Lord  Uxmoor  next  day  with  a  certain 
timidity  and  half  tenderness  she  had 
never  shown  before  ;  ami,  as  he  was 
by  nature  a  rapid  wooer,  he  saw  his 
cluince,  and  siaid  much  longer  than 
usual,  and  at  last  hazarded  a  hope 
that  he  might  be  allowed  to  try  and 
win  her  heart. 


206 


A  W(JMAN-HATER. 


Tiieienpon  she  began  to  fence,  and 
say  that  love  was  all  folly.  He  had 
her  esteem  and  iier  gratitude,  and  it 
woidd  be  better  for  both  of  theiii  to 
confine  tlieir  sentiments  within  those 
rational  bounds. 

"  Tiiat  I  can  not  do,"  said  Uxmoor ; 
"so  I  must  ask  your  leave  to  be  am- 
bitious. Let  me  try  and  conquer  your 
affection." 

"As  you  conquered  the  bid!  ?" 

"  Yes ;  only  not  so  rudely,  nor  so 
quickly,  I'll  be  bound." 

"Well,  I  don't  know  why  I  should 
object.  I  esteem  you  more  than  any 
body  in  the  world.  You  are  my  beau 
ideal  of  a  man.  If  you  can  make  me 
love  you,  all  the  better  for  me.  Only, 
I  am  afraid  vou  can  not." 

"May  I  try." 

"Yes,"  said  Zoe,  blushing  carna- 
tion. 

' '  May  I  come  every  day  ?" 

"Twice  a  day,  if  yon  like." 

"  I  think  I  siiall  succeed — in  time." 

"  I  hope  yon  may." 

Then  he  kissed  her  hand  devotedly 
— the  first  time  in  his  life — and  went 
away  on  winjjs. 

Zoe  flew  11])  to  her  Aunt  Maitland, 
flushed  and  agitated.  "Aunt,  I  am 
as  good  as  engaged  to  him.  1  have 
said  such  unguarded  things.  I'm 
sure  he  will  miderstand  it  that  I  con- 
sent to  receive  liis  addresses  as  my 
lover.     Not  that  I  really  said  so." 

"  I  hope,"  said  Aunt  Maitland, 
"that  you  liave  committed  yourself 
somehow  or  other,  and  can  not  go 
back." 

"I  think  I  have.  Yes;  it  is  all 
over.     I  can  not  go  back  now." 

Then  she  burst  out  crying.  Then 
she  was  near  choking,  and  had  to 
smell  her  aunt's  salts,  while  still  the 
tears  ran  fast. 

Miss  Maitland  received  this  with 
perfect  composure.  She  looked  on 
them  as  the  last  tears  of  regret  given 
to  a  foolisli  altaciimeiit  at  the  mo- 
ment of  condemning  it  forever.  She 
was  old,  and  had  seen  tliese  (inal  tears 
shed  by  more  than  one  loving  woman 


just  before  entering  on  her  day  of 

sunshine. 

And  now  Zoe  must  be  alone,  and 
vent  her  swelling  heart.  She  tied  a 
haiidkercliief  round  her  head  and  dart- 
ed into  tiie  garden.  She  went  round 
and  round  it  with  fleet  foot  and  beat- 
ing pulses. 

The  sun  began  to  decline,  and  a 
cold  wind  to  warn  her  in.  Siie  came, 
for  the  last  time,  to  a  certain  turn  of 
the  gravel  walk,  where  there  was  a 
little  iron  gate  leading  into  the  wood- 
ed walk  from  the  meadows. 

At  that  gate  slie  found  a  man.  She 
started  back,  and  leaned  against  the 
nearest  tree,  with  her  hands  beliind 
lier. 

It  was  Edward  Severne  —  all  in 
black,  and  pale  as  death ;  but  not 
paler  than  her  own  face  turned  in  a 
moment. 

Indeed,  they  looked  at  each  other 
like  two  ghosts. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

Zoe  was  the  first  to  speak,  or  rath- 
er to  gasp.  "  Why  do  you  come 
here  ?" 

"  Because  you  are  here." 

"And  liow  dare  you  come  where  I 
am  ? — now  your  falsehood  is  found  out 
and  flung  into  my  very  face!" 

"I  have  never  been  false  to  you. 
At  this  moment  I  sutt'er  for  my  fidel- 


sufler?     I  am  glad   of  it. 


ity." 

''You 
How  ?" 

"  In  many  ways  :  but  they  are  all 
light,  compared  with  my  fear  of  los- 
ing your  love." 

"I  will  listen  to  no  idle  words," 
said  Zoe,  sternly.  "A  lady  claimed 
you  before  my  face ;  why  did  you  not 
stand  firm  like  a  man,  and  say,  'You 
have  no  claim  on  me  now;  I  have 
a  right  to  love  another,  and  I  do?' 
Why  did  you  fly? — because  you  were 
guilty." 

"No,"  said  he,  doggedly.     "  Sur- 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


207 


prised  and  confounded,  but  not  guilty. 
Fool!  idiot!  that  I  was.  I  lost  my 
head  entirely.  Yes,  it  is  hopeless. 
You  must  despise  me.  You  have  a 
right  to  despise  me." 

"Don't  tell  me,"  said  Zoe  ;  "you 
never  lose  your  liead.  You  are  always 
self-possessed  and  artful.  Would  to 
Heaven  I  had  never  seen  you!"  She 
was  violent. 

He  gave  her  time.  "Zoe,"  said  he, 
after  a  wliile,  "  if  I  had  not  lost  my 
head,  should  I  have  ill-treated  a  lady 
and  nearly  killed  her?" 

"Ah!"  said  Zoe,  sharply,  "that  is 
what  you  have  been  suffering  from — 
remorse.  And  well  you  may.  You 
ought  to  go  back  to  her,  and  ask  her 
pardon  on  your  knees.  Indeed,  it  is 
all  you  have  left  to  do  now." 

"I  know  I  ought." 

"  Then  do  what  vou  ought.  Good- 
bye." 

"I  can  not.     I  hate  her." 

"What,  because  you  have  broken 
her  heart,  and  nearly  killed  her?" 

"  No  ;  but  because  she  has  come 
between  me  and  the  only  woman  I 
ever  really  loved,  or  ever  can." 

"She  would  not  have  done  that  if 
you  had  not  given  her  the  right.  I 
see  her  now ;  slie  looked  justice,  and 
you  looked  guilt.  Words  are  idle, 
when  I  can  see  her  face  before  me 
still.  Nonvoman  could  look  like  that 
who  was  in  the  wrong.  But  you — 
guilt  made  you  a  coward  :  you  were 
false  to  her  and  false  to  me ;  and  so 
you  ran  away  from  us  both.  You 
Avould  have  talked  either  of  us  over, 
alone ;  but  we  were  together  :  so  you 
ran  away.  You  liave  found  me  alone 
now,  so  you  are  brave  again  ;  but  it  is 
too  late.  I  am  undeceived.  I  decline 
to  rub  Mademoiselle  Klosking  of  her 
lover;   so  good-bye." 

And  this  time  she  was  really  going, 
but  he  stopped  her.  "At  least  don't 
go  with  a  falsehood  on  your  lips,"  said 
he,  coldlv. 

"A  falsehood!— Me!" 

"Yes,  it  is  a  falsehood.  How  can 
you  pretend  I  left  that  lady  for  you. 


when  you  know  my  connection  with 
her  had  entirely  ceased  ten  months 
before  I  ever  saw  your  face  ?" 

This  staggered  Zoe  a  moment;  so 
did  the  heat  and  sense  of'injustice  he 
threw  into  his  voice. 

"I  forgot  that,"  said  she,  na'ively. 
Then,  recovering  herself,  "You  may 
have  parted  with  her;  but  it  does  not 
follow  that  she  consented.  Fickle 
men  desert  constant  women.  It  is 
done  every  day." 

"  You  are  mistaken  again,"  said  he. 
"When  I  first  saw  you,  I  had  ceased 
to  think  of  Mademoiselle  Klosking ; 
but  it  was  not  so  when  I  first  left  her. 
I  did  not  desert  her.  I  tore  myself 
from  her.  I  had  a  great  aff'ection  for 
her." 

"  You  dare  to  tell  me  that.  Well, 
at  all  events,  it  is  the  truth.  Why  did 
you  leave  her,  then  ?" 

"  Out  of  self-respect.  I  was  poor, 
she  was  rich  and  admired.  Men  sent 
her  boucpiets  and  bracelets,  and  flat- 
tered her  behind  the  scenes,  and  I  w'as 
lowered  in  my  own  eyes :  so  I  left  her, 
I  was  nnhap]iy  for  a  time ;  but  I  had 
my  pride  to  support  me,  and  the 
wound  was  healed  long  before  I  knew 
what  it  was  to  love,  really  to  love." 

There  was  nothing  here  that  Zoe 
could  contradict.  She  kept  silence, 
and  was  mystified. 

Then  she  attacked  him  on  another 
quarter.  "Have  you  written  to  her 
since  vou  behaved  like  a  ruffian  to 
her?"' 

"  No.  And  I  never  will,  come  what 
may.  It  is  wicked  of  me  ;  but  I  hate 
her.  I  am  compelled  to  esteem  her. 
But  I  hate  her." 

Zoe  could  quite  understand  that; 
but  in  spite  of  that  she  said,  "  Of 
course  yo;.  do.  Men  always  hate  those 
tliev  have  used  ill.  Why  did  you  not 
write  to  me  ?  Had  a  mind  to  be  im- 
partial, I  suppose  ?" 

"I  liad  reason  to  believe  it  would 
have  l)eon  intercepted." 

"  For  shame !  "Vizard  is  incapable 
of  such  a  thing." 

"Ah,  you  don't  know  how  he  is 


208 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


changed.  He  looks  on  me  as  a  mad 
dog.  ConRi<ier,  Zoe :  do,  piay,  take 
tlie  real  key  to  it  all.  He  is  in  love 
with  .Mailemoiselle  Klosking,  madly 
in  love  witli  her  :  and  1  liave  been  so 
untoitiinate  as  to  injure  her — neaily 
to  kill  lier.  I  daie  say  he  thinks  it  is 
on  your  account  he  hates  ine  ;  but  men 
deceive  themselves.  It  is  for  her  he 
hates  me." 

"Oil!" 

"Ay.  Tliink  for  a  moment,  and 
yon  will  see  it  is.  You  are  not  in  iiis 
confidence.  I  am  sure  he  has  never 
told  you  that  he  ordered  his  keepers  to 
shoot  me  down  if  I  came  about  tiie 
house  at  night." 

"Oh  no,  no!"  cried  Zoe. 

"Do  you  know  he  has  raised  the 
country  against  me,  and  has  warrants 
out  against  me  for  forgery,  because  I 
was  taken  in  by  a  rogue  who  gave  me 
bills  with  sham  names  on  them,  and  I 
got  Vizard  to  cash  them  ?  As  soon  as 
we  found  out  how  I  had  been  tricked, 
my  uncle  and  I  otiered  at  once  to  pay 
him  back  his  money.  But  no !  he 
prefers  to  keej)  the  bills  as  a  weapon." 

Zoe  began  to  be  jiuzzled  a  little. 
But  she  said,  "Yon  have  been  a  long 
time  discovering  all  these  grievances. 
Why  have  you  held  no  communica- 
tion all  this  time?" 

"Because  yon  were  inaccessible. 
Does  not  your  own  heart  tell  you  that 
I  have  been  all  these  weeks  trying  to 
communicate,  and  unable?  AVIiy,  I 
came  thiee  times  under  your  window 
at  night,  and  you  never,  never  would 
look  out." 

"  I  did  look  out  ever  so  often." 

"If  I  had  been  yon,  I  should  have 
looked  ten  thousand  times.  I  only 
left  olF  corning  when  I  heard  the  keep- 
ers were  ordered  to  shoot  me  down. 
Not  that  I  should  have  cared  much, 
for  I  am  desjierate.  But  I  had  just 
sense  enoutjh  left  to  see  that,  if  mv 
dead  body  iiad  been  brought  bleeding 
into  yoin' iiall  sf)me  night,  none  of  you 
would  ever  lia\e  been  hapjiy  again. 
Your  eyes  would  have  been  opened, 
all  of  yoa.     Well,  Zoe,  you  left  Viz- 


ard Court ;  that  I  learned  :  but  it  was 
only  this  morning  I  could  find  out 
where  you  were  gone :  and  yon  see  I 
am  here — with  a  price  upon  my  head. 
Please  read  Vizard's  advertisements." 

She  took  them  and  read  them.  A 
hot  flush  mounted  to  her  cheek. 

"You  see,"  said  he,  "  1  am  to  be 
imprisoned  if  I  set  my  foot  in  Bar- 
fordshire.  Well,  it  will  be  false  im- 
prisonment, and  Mademoiselle  Klos- 
king"s  lover  will  smart  for  it.  At  all 
events,  I  shall  take  no  orders  but  from 
you.  You  have  been  deceived  by  ap- 
pearances. I  shall  do  all  I  can  to  un- 
deceive you,  and  if  1  can  not,  there 
will  be  no  need  to  imjirison  me  for  a 
deceit  of  which  I  was  the  victim,  nor 
to  shoot  me  like  a  dog  for  loving  yoti. 
I  will  take  my  broken  heart  cpiietly 
away,  and  leave  Barfoi'dshire,  and  En- 
gland, and  the  world,  for  aught  I 
care." 

Then  he  ciied ;  and  that  made  her 
cry  directly. 

"Ah  !"  .she  sighed,  "  we  are  unfort- 
unate. A)i])earances  are  so  lieceit- 
ful.  I  see  I  have  judged  too  hastily, 
and  listened  too  little  to  my  own  heart, 
that  always  made  excuses.  But  it  is 
too  late  now." 

"Whv  too  late?" 

"It  is." 

"But  why?" 

"It  all  looked  so  ngl'^,  and  yon 
were  silent.  We  are  unfortunate. 
.My  brother  would  never  let  us  marry  ; 
and,  besides —  Oh,  why  did  you  not 
come  before  ?" 

"I  might  as  well  say.  Why  did  you 
not  look  out  of  your  window  ?  Yon 
could  have  done  it  without  lisking 
your  life,  as  I  did.  Or  why  did  you 
not  advertise?  You  might  have  in- 
vited an  explanation  from  'E.  S.,' 
under  cover  to  so-and-so." 

"  Ladies  never  think  of  such  things. 
You  know  that  very  well." 

"Oh,  1  don't  com])lain  ;  hut  I  do 
say  that  those  who  love  should  not  be 
ready  to  reproach;  they  should  put 
a  generous  construction.  You  might 
have  known,  and  you  ought  to  have 


A  WOMAN-HATEK. 


209 


known,  that  I  was  struggling  to  find 
VDii,  and  torn  with  anguish  at  my  im- 
potence." 

"No,  no.  I  am  so  young  and  in- 
experienced, and  all  my  friends  against 
you.     It  is  tliey  wlio  have  parted  us." 

"  How  can  tliey  part  us,  if  you  love 
me  still  as  I  love  you?" 

"  Because  for  the  last  fortnight  I 
have  not  loved  yon,  but  hated  you, 
and  doubted  you,  and  thought  my  only 
chance  of  hapiiiness  was  to  imitate 
your  indifference :  and  while  I  was 
thinking  so,  another  person  has  come 
forward  ;  one  wliom  I  have  always  es- 
teemed: and  now,  in  my  pity  and  de- 
spair, I  have  given  him  iiopes."  She 
hid  her  burning  face  in  her  iiands. 

"I  see;  you  are  false  to  me,  and 
therefore  you  have  suspected  me  of 
being  false  to  you." 

At  that  she  raised  her  head  high 
directly.  "  Edward,  you  are  unjust. 
Look  in  my  face,  and  you  may  see 
what  I  have  sulfered  before  I  could 
bring  myself  to  condemn  you." 

''What!  your  paleness,  that  dark 
rim  under  your  lovely  eyes — am  I  the 
cause?" 

"Indeed  you  are.  But  I  forgive 
you.  You  are  sadly  pale  and  worn 
too.     Oh,  how  unfortunate  we  are!" 

"Do  not  cry,  dearest,"  said  he. 
"Do  not  despair.  J3e  calm,  and  let 
me  know  the  worst.  I  will  not  re- 
proaciiyou,  tbougli  yon  have  rejn-oach- 
ed  me.  1  love  you  as  no  woman  can 
love.     Come,  tell  me." 

"Then  the  trutli  is,  Lord  Uxmoor 
has  renewed  his  attention  to  me." 

"Ah!" 

"  He  has  been  here  every  day." 

Severne  groaned. 

"Aunt  Maitland  was  on  his  side, 
and  spoke  so  kindly  to  me,  and  he 
saved  my  lite  from  a  furious  liull.  He 
is  brave,  nol)Ie,  good,  and  hehnes  me. 
I  have  cnn)uiitte<l  myself.  I  can  not 
draw  l)ack  witli  honor." 

"But  from  me  you  can,  because  I 
am  poor  and  hated,  and  have  no  title. 
If  you  are  committed  to  him,  you  are 
engaged  to  me." 


"I  am;  so  now  I  can  go  neither 
way.  If  I  had  poison,  I  would  take 
it  this  moment,  and  end  all." 

"For  God's  sake,  don't  talk  so.  I 
am  sure  you  exaggerate.  You  can 
not,  in  these  few  days,  have  ]jledged 
your  faith  to  another.  Let  me  see 
yom-  finger.  Ah  !  there's  my  ring  on 
it  still :  bless  you,  my  own  darling  Zoe 
— bless  you  ;"  and  he  covered  her  hand 
with  kisses,  and  bedewed  it  with  his 
ever-ready  tears. 

The  girl  began  to  melt,  and  all  pow- 
er to  ooze  out  of  her,  mind  and  body. 
She  sighed  deeply,  and  said,  "Wiiat 
can  I  do — I  don't  say  with  honor  and  . 
credit,  but  with  decency.  What  can 
I  do?" 

"Tell  me,  first,  what  you  have  .said 
to  him  that  you  consider  so  comjjro- 
mising." 

Zoe,  with  many  sighs,  replied:  "I 
believe  —  I  said  —  I  was  unhappy. 
And  so  I  was.  And  I  owned — tluit 
I  admired — and  esteemed  him.  And 
so  I  do.  And  then  of  course  he 
wanted  more,  and  I  could  not  give 
more ;  and  he  asked  might  he  try 
and  make  me  love  him  ;  and — I  said 
— I  am  afraid  I  said — he  might,  if  he 
could." 

"And  a  very  proper  answer,  too." 

"Ah!  but  r  said  he  might  come 
every  day.  It  is  idle  to  deceive  our- 
selves :  I  have  encouraged  his  ad- 
dresses. I  can  do  nothing  now  with 
credit  but  die,  or  go  into  a  convent." 

"When  did  vou  sav  this?" 

"This  very  day."  " 

"Then  he  has  never  acted  on  it." 

"No,  but  he  will.  He  will  be  here 
to-morrow  for  certain." 

"Then  your  course  is  plain.  Yon 
must  choose  to-night  between  him  and 
me.  You  must  dismiss  hiin  by  letter, 
or  me  u])(ui  liiis  spot.  I  have  not 
much  fortune  to  otfer  yon,  and  no 
coronet ;  but  I  love  you,  ami  you  have 
seen  me  reject  a  lovely  and  accom- 
])lished  woman,  wliom  I  esteem  as 
nnich  as  you  do  tliis  lord.  Reject 
him  ?  Why,  you  have  seen  me  fiing 
her  away  from  me  like  a  dog  sooner 


210 


A  WOMAA-HATEK. 


than  leave  yon  in  a  moment's  doubt 
of  my  love :  if  you  can  not  write  a 
civil  note  declining  an  earl  for  me, 
your  love  is  not  wortliy  of  mine,  and 
1  will  begone  with  my  love.  I  will 
not  take  it  to  Mademoiselle  Klosking, 
though  I  esteem  her  as  you  do  this 
lord  ;  hut,  at  all  events,  I  will  take  it 
away  from  yon,  and  leave  you  my 
curse  instead,  for  a  false,  fickle  girl 
that  could  not  wait  one  little  month, 
but  must  fall,  with  her  engaged  ring  on 
her  finger,  into  another  man's  arms. 
Oh,  Zoe !  Zoe !  who  could  have  be- 
lieved this  of  you?' 

"  Don't  reproach  Tne.  I  won't  bear 
it,"  she  cried,  wildly. 

"  I  hope  not  to  have  to  reproach 
you,"  said  he,  firmly  ;  "  I  can  not  con- 
ceive your  hesitating." 

"I  am  worn  out.  Love  has  been 
too  great  a  torment.  Oh,  if  I  could 
find  peace!" 

Again  her  tears  flowed. 

He  put  on  a  sympathizing  air. 
"You  shall  have  peace.  Dismiss 
him  as  I  tell  yon,  and  he  will  trouble 
you  no  more;  shake  hands  with  me, 
and  say  you  prefer  him,  and  I  will 
trouble  you  no  more.  But  with  two 
lovers,  peace  is  out  of  the  question, 
and  so  is  self-respect.  I  know  I  could 
not  vacillate  between  you  and  Made- 
moiselle Klosking  or  any  other  wom- 
an." 

"Ah,  Edward,  if  I  do  this,  you 
ought  to  love  me  very  dearly." 

"  I  shall.  Better  than  ever — if  pos- 
sible." 

"And  never  make  me  jealous  again." 

"  I  never  shall,  dearest.  Our  trou- 
bles are  over." 

"Edward,  I  have  been  very  unhap- 
py. I  could  not  bear  these  doubts 
again." 

"  You  shall  never  be  unhappy  again." 

"I  must  do  what  you  require,  I 
suppose.  That  is  how  it  ahvavs  ends. 
Oh  dear!  oh  dear!" 

"  Zoe,  it  must  be  done.  You  know 
it  must." 

"  I  warn  you  I  shall  do  it  as  kindly 
as  I  can." 


"'Of  course  you  will.  You  ought 
to." 

"I  must  go  in  now.  I  feel  very 
cold." 

"How  soon  to-morrow  will  j'ou 
meet  me  here  ?" 

"When  you  please,"' said  she,  lan- 
guidly. 

"At  ten  o'clock?" 

"Yes." 

Then  there  was  a  tender  parting, 
and  Zoe  went  glowly  in.  She  went 
to  her  own  room,  just  to  think  it  all 
over  alone.  She  caught  sight  of  her 
face  in  the  glass.  Her  ciieeks  had 
regained  color,  and  her  eyes  were 
bright  as  stars.  She  stopped  and  look- 
ed at  herself.  "There  now,"  said 
she,  "and  I  seem  to  myself  to  live 
again.  I  was  mad  to  think  I  could 
ever  love  any  man  but  him.  He  is 
my  darling,  my  idol." 

There  was  no  late  dinner  at  Som- 
erville  Villa.  Indeed,  ladies,  left  to 
themselves,  seldom  dine  late.  Nature 
is  strong  in  them,  and  they  are  hun- 
griest when  the  sun  is  iiigl).  At  seven 
o'clock  Zoe  Vizard  was  seated  at  her 
desk  trying  to  write  to  Lord  Uxmoor. 
She  sighed,  she  moaned,  she  began,  and 
dropped  the  pen  and  hid  her  face.  She 
became  almost  wild  ;  and  in  that  state 
she  at  last  dashed  oft"  what  follows : 

'  'Dear  Lord  Uxmoor, — For  pity's 
sake,  forgive  the  mad  words  I  said  to 
you  to-day.  It  is  impossible.  I  can 
do  no  moie  than  admire  and  esteem 
you.  My  heart  is  gone  from  me  for- 
ever. Pray  forgive  me,  though  I  do 
not  deserve  it ;  and  never  see  me  nor 
look  at  me  again.  I  ask  pardon  for 
my  vacillation.  It  has  been  disgrace- 
ful ;  but  it  has  ended,  and  I  was  un- 
der a  great  error,  which  I  can  not  ex- 
plain to  you,  when  I  led  you  to  believe 
I  had  a  heart  to  give  you.  My  eyes 
are  opened.  Our  paths  lie  asunder. 
Pray,  ])ray  forgive  me,  if  it  is  possible. 
I  will  never  forgive  myself,  nor  cease 
to  bless  and  revere  you,  whom  I  have 
used  so  ill.  Zoe  Vizard." 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


2U 


That  day  Uxmoor  dined  alone  with 
his  mother,  for  a  wonder,  and  he  told 
her  how  Miss  Vizard  had  come  round  ; 
he  told  her  also  abont  the  bull,  but  so 
vilely  that  she  hardly  comprehended 
he  had  been  in  any  danger :  these  en- 
counters are  rarely  described  to  the 
life,  except  by  us  who  avoid  them — 
except  on  paper. 

Lady  Uxmoor  was  much  pleased. 
She  was  a  proud,  politic  lady,  and  thts 
was  a  judicious  union  of  two  powerful 
houses  in  the  county,  and  one  that 
would  almost  command  the  elections. 
But,  above  all,  she  knew  her  son's 
heart  was  in  the  match,  and  she  gave 
him  a  mother's  sympathy. 

As  she  retired,  she  kissed  him,  and 
said,  "When  you  are  quite  sure  of 
the  prize,  tell  me,  and  I  will  call  upon 
her." 

Being  alone.  Lord  Uxmoor  lighted 
a  cigar  and  smoked  it  in  measureless 
content.  The  servant  brought  iiim 
a  note  on  a  salver.  It  had  come  by 
hand.  Uxmoor  opened  it,  and  read 
every  word  straiglit  tlirough,  down  to 
"Zoe  Vizard;"  read  it,  and  sat  pet- 
rified. 

He  read  it  again.  He  felt  a  sort 
of  sickness  come  over  him.  He  swal- 
lowed a  tumbler  of  port,  a  wine  he 
rarely  touched  ;  but  he  felt  worse  now 
than  after  the  bull-fight.  This  done, 
he  rose  and  stalked  like  a  wounded 
lion  into  the  drawing-room,  wliicli 
was  on  the  same  floor,  and  laid  tlie 
letter  before  his  mother. 

"You  are  a  woman  too,"  said  he, 
a  little  helplessly.  "Tell  me — what 
on  earth  does  this  mean  ?" 

The  dowager  read  it  slowly  and 
keenly,  and  said,  "It  means — another 
man." 

"Ah!"  said  Uxmoor,  witli  a  sort 
of  snarl. 

"  Have  you  seen  any  one  about 
her  ?" 

"No;  not  lately.  At  Vizard  Court 
there  was.  But  that  is  all  over  now, 
I  conclude.  It  was  a  Mr.  Severne,  an 
adventurer,  a  fellow  that  was  caught 
out  in  a  lie  before  us  all.     Vizard  tells 


me  a  lady  came  and  claimed  him  be- 
fore Miss  Vizard,  and  he  ran  away." 

"An  unworthy  attachment,  in 
short?" 

"Very  unworthy,  if  it  was  an  at- 
tachment at  all." 

"  Was  he  at  Vizard  Court  when  she 
declined  your  hand?" 

"Yes." 

"  Did  he  remain,  after  you  went  ?" 

"I  suppose  so.  Y''es,  he  must 
have." 

"Then  the  whole  thing  is  clear: 
that  man  has  come  forward  again  un- 
expectedly, or  written,  and  she  dis- 
misses you.  My  darling,  there  is  but 
one  thing  for  you  to  do.  Leave  lier, 
and  thaidv  her  for  telling  you  in  time. 
A  less  honorable  fool  would  have  hid- 
den it,  and  then  we  might  have  had  a 
Countess  of  Uxmoor  in  the  Divorce 
Court  some  day  or  other." 

"  I  had  better  go  abroad,"  said  Ux- 
moor, with  a  groan.  "This  country 
is  poisoned  for  me." 

"  Go,  by  all  means.  Let  Janneway 
pack  up  your  things  to-morrow." 

"I  should  like  to  kill  that  fellow 
first." 

"You  will  not  even  waste  a  thought 
on  him,  if  you  are  my  son." 

"  Y'ou  are  right,  mother.  What  am 
I  to  say  to  her  ?" 

"Not  a  word." 

"  What,  not  answer  her  letter?  It 
is  luimble  enough,  I  am  sure — poor 
soul !  Mother,  I  am  wretched,  but  I 
am  not  bitter,  and  my  rival  will  re- 
venge me." 

"  Uxmoor,  your  going  abroad  is 
the  only  answer  she  shall  have.  The 
wisest  man,  in  tiiese  matters,  wiio  ever 
lived  has  left  a  rule  of  conduct  to  ev- 
ery well-born  man — a  rule  which,  be- 
lieve me,  is  wisdom  itself: 

"  Le  bruit  est  pour  le  fat,  la  plaiute  est 
pour  le  sot ; 
L'honiiOte  homme  trompd  s'eloigne,  et 
ue  (lit  mot." 

You  will  make  a  tour,  and  not  say  a 
word  to  Miss  Vizard,  good,  bad.  nor 
indifferent.     I  insist  upon  that." 
"  Very    well.      Thank    you,   dear 


:i2 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


mother ;  you  guide  me,  and  don't  let 
me  make  a  fool  of  myself,  for  I  nm 
tenilily  cut  up.  You  will  be  the  only 
Countess  of  Uxmoor  in  my  day." 

Then  he  knelt  at  her  feet,  and  she 
kissed  his  head  and  cried  over  him  ; 
but  her  tears  only  made  this  proud 
lady  stronger. 

Next  (lay  he  started  on  his  travels. 

Now,  hut  for  Zoe,  lie  would  on  no 
account  have  left  England  just  then  ; 
for  he  was  just  going  to  build  model 
cottages  in  his  own  village,  upon  de- 
signs of  his  own,  each  with  a.  little 
])lot,  and  a  public  warehouse  or  gran- 
aiy,  with  divisions  for  their  potatoes 
and  apples,  etc.  However,  he  turned 
this  over  in  his  mind  while  he  was 
packing;  he  ]ilaced  certain  plans  and 
papers  in  his  dispatch-box,  and  took 
his  ticket  to  Taddington,  instead  of 
going  at  once  to  London.  From  Tad- 
dington he  drove  over  to  Ilillsioke, 
and  asked  for  Miss  Gale.  'J'liey  told 
him  she  was  fixed  at  Vizard  Court. 
That  vexed  him  :  he  did  not  want  to 
meet  Vizard.  He  thought  it  the  part 
of  ix  Jerry  Sneak  to  go  and  how]  to  a 
brother  against  ids  sister.  Yet,  if  Viz- 
ard questioneil  him,  how  could  he  con- 
ceal there  was  something  wrong? 
However,  he  went  down  to  Vizard 
Court ;  but  said  to  the  servant  who 
opened  the  door,  "I  am  rather  in  a 
hurry,  sir:  do  yon  think  that  yon 
could  procure  me  a  few  minutes  with 
Miss  Gale?  Y'ou  need  not  trouble 
Mr.  Vizard." 

"Yes,  my  land.  Certainly,  my 
laud.  Please  step  in  the  morning- 
room,  my  laud.      Air.  Vizard  is  out." 

That  was  fortunate,  and  Miss  Gale 
came  down  to  him  directly. 

Famiy  took  tiiat  ojjportnnity  to  chat- 
ter and  tell  .Mademoiselle  Klosking  all 
about  Lord  Uxmoor  and  his  passion 
for  Zoe.  "And  he  will  have  her, 
too,"  said  she,  boldly. 

Lord  Uxmoor  told  Miss  Gnle  he 
had  calK'd  upon  business.  lie  was 
obliged  to  leave  home  for  a  time,  and 
wished  to  jilace  his  projects  niuler  the 
care  of  a  person  who  could  really  sym- 


pathize with  them,  and  make  additions 
to  them,  if  necessary.  "Men,"  said 
he,  "are  always  making  oversights  in 
nuitters  <if  domestic  comfort :  besides, 
you  are  full  of  ideas.  1  want  you  to 
be  viceroy  with  full  power,  and  act 
just  as  you  would  if  the  village  be- 
longed to  yoti." 

Ithoda  colored  high  at  the  compli- 
ment. 

"Wells,  cows,  granary,  real  educ.i- 
tion — what  you  like,"  said  he.  "I 
know  your  mind.  Begin  abolishing 
the  lower  orders  in  the  only  way  they 
can  be  got  rid  of — by  raising  them 
in  comfort,  cleanliness,  decency,  and 
knowledge.  Then  I  shall  not  be  miss- 
ed.    I'm  going  abroad." 

"  Going  abroad?" 

"Yes.  Here  are  my  plans:  alter 
them  for  the  better,  if  you  can.  All 
the  work  to  be  done  by  the  villagers. 
Weekly  wages.  We  buy  materials. 
They  will  be  moie  leconciled  to  im- 
proved dw-ellings,  when  they  build 
them  themselves.  Here  are  the  ad- 
dresses of  the  peoj)le  who  will  furnish 
money.  It  will  entail  traveling;  but 
my  ]jeople  will  always  meet  you  at 
the  station,  if  yon  telegrajih  from 
Taddington.  You  accept  ?  A  thou- 
sand thanks.  I  am  afraid  I  must  be 
oft-." 

She  went  into  the  hall  with  him, 
half  bewildered,  and  only  at  the  door 
found  time  to  ask  after  Zoe  Vizard. 

"A  little  better,  I  think,  than  when 
she  came." 

"  Does  she  know  vou  are  going 
abroad  ?" 

"  No  ;  I  don't  think  she  does,  yet. 
It  was  settled  all  in  a  hurry." 

He  escaped  further  questioning  by 
hurrying  away. 

Miss  Gale  was  still  looking  after 
him,  when  Ina  Klosking  came  down, 
dressed  foi'  a  walk,  and  leaning  lightly 
on  Miss  Dover's  aim.  This  was  by 
jjrevious  consent  of  Miss  Gale. 

"Well,  dear,"  said  Fanny,  "what 
did  he  say  to  yon  ?" 

"Something  that  has  surprised  and 
puzzled  me  very  much."     She  then 


A  WOMAN-HATER, 


213 


related  the  whole  conversation,  with 
her  usual  precision. 

Ilia  Klosking  observed  quietly  to 
Fanny  that  this  did  not  look  like  suc- 
cesstul  wooing. 

"I  don't  know  that,"  said  Fanny, 
stoutly.  "Oil,  Miss  Gale,  did  you  not 
ask  him  about  her?" 

"  Certainly  I  did  ;  and  he  said  slie 
was  better  than  wlien  siie  first  came." 

"There!"  said  Fanny,  triumph- 
antly. 

Miss  Gale  gave  her  a  little  pinch, 
and  she  dropped  the  subject. 

Vizard  returned,  and  found  Ma- 
demoiselle Klosking  walking  on  iiis 
gravel.  He  offered  her  iiis  arm,  and 
was  a  hap])y  man,  parading  her  very 
slowly,  and  supporting  lier  ste])s,  and 
purring  liis  congratulations  into  her 
ear.  "Suppose  I  were  to  invite  you 
to  dinner,  wliat  would  you  say  ?" 

"I  tliink  1  should  sav,  'Tomor- 
row.'" 

"And  a  very  good  answer,  too. 
To-morrow  shall  be  a^fete." 

"You  spoil  me?" 

"  That  is  impossible." 

It  was  strange  to  see  them  togeth- 
er ;  he  so  happy,  she  so  apathetic,  yet 
gracious. 

Next  morning  came  a  bit  of  human 
nature — a  letter  from  Zoe  to  Fanny, 
almost  entirely  occui)icd  with  praises 
of  Lord  Uxmoor.  She  told  tiie  bull 
story  better  than  I  have — if  possible 
— and,  in  siiort,  made  Uxmoor  a  hero 
of  romance. 

Fanny  carried  this  in  triumph  to 
the  other  ladies,  and  read  it  out. 
"There!"  said  she.  "Didn't  I  tell 
you  ?" 

Riioda  read  the  letter,  and  owned 
herself  puzzled.  "I  am  not,  then," 
said  Fanny:  "they  are  engaged — 
over  the  bull ;  like  l''in-o])a  and  I  for- 
get who — and  so  he  is  not  afraid  to  go 
abroad  now.  That  is  just  like  the  men. 
They  cool  directly  the  chase  is  over." 

Now  the  trutii  was  that  Zoe  was 
trying  to  soothe  her  conscience  with 
eloquent  praises  of  the  man  she  had 
dismissed,  and  felt  guilty. 


Ina  Klosking  said  little.  She  was 
puzzled  too  at  first.  Slie  asked  to  see 
Zoe's  handwriting.  Tlie  letter  was 
handed  to  her.  She  studied  the  char- 
acters. "  It  is  a  good  hand,"  she 
said;  "nothing  mean  there."  And 
she  gave  it  back. 

But,  with  a  glance,  she  had  read 
the  address,  and  learned  that  the  post- 
town  was  Bagley. 

All  that  day,  at  intervals,  she 
brought  her  powerfid  understanding 
to  bear  on  the  ])aradox ;  and  though 
she  had  not  tiie  facts  and  the  clue  I 
have  given  the  reader,  she  came  near 
the  truth  in  an  essential  matter.  She 
satisfied  herself  that  Lord  Uxmoor 
was  not  engaged  to  Zoe  Vizard. 
Clearly,  if  so,  he  would  not  leave  En- 
gland for  months.  She  resolved  to 
know  more ;  and  just  before  dinner 
she  wrote  a  line  to  Ashmead,  and  re- 
quested him  to  call  on  her  immedi- 
ately. 

That  day  she  dined  with  Vizard 
and  the  ladies.  She  sat  at  Vizard's 
right  lumd,  and  he  told  her  how  proud 
aiul  happy  he  was  to  see  her  there. 

She  blushed  faintly,  but  made  no 
rejily. 

siie  retired  soon  after  dinner. 

All  next  day  she  expected  Ash- 
mead. 

He  did  not  come. 

She  dined  with  Vizard  next  day, 
and  retired  to  the  drawing-room.  The 
piano  was  opened,  and  she  played  one 
or  two  exquisite  things,  and  afterward 
tried  her  voice,  but  only  iu  scales, 
and  soniewliat  timitlly,  for  Miss  Gale 
warned  her  she  miglit  lose  it  or  spoil 
it  if  she  strained  the  vocal  chord  while 
her  whole  system  was  weak. 

Next  day  Asliinead  came  with 
apologies.  He  had  spent  a  day  in  the 
cathedral  town  on  business.  He  did 
not  tell  iier  how  he  had  spent  that  day, 
going  about  pulling  her  as  the  greatest 
singer  of  sacred  music  in  the  world, 
and  paving  tlie  way  to  her  engagement 
at  file  next  festival.  Yet  the  single- 
hearted  Josepii  had  really  raised  tliat 
commercial   superstnucture  upon   the 


214 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


sentiments  she  had  uttered  on  his  first 
visit  to  Vizard  Court. 

Ina  now  lield  a  private  conference 
with  him.  "I  thiiili,"  said  slie,  "I 
have  lieard  you  say  you  were  once  an 
actor." 

"I  was,  madam,  and  a  very  good 
one,  too." 

"  Cela  va  sans  dire.  I  never  knew 
one  that  was  not.  At  all  events,  you 
can  disguise  yourself." 

"Any  thing,  madam,  from  Grand- 
fatlier  Whitehead  to  a  boy  in  a  pina- 
fore.    Famous  for  my  make-ups." 

"I  wish  you -to  watch  a  certain 
house,  and  not  be  recognized  by  a 
person  who  knows  you." 

"  Well,  madam,  nothing  is  infra 
dig.  if  done  for  you  ;  notliing  is  dis- 
tasteful if  done  for  you." 

"  Thank  you,  my  fiiend.  I  have 
thought  it  well  to  put  my  instructions 
on  paper." 

"Ay,  that  is  the  best  way." 

She  handed  him  the  instructions. 
He  read  them,  and  his  eyes  sparkled. 
"Ah,  tliis  is  a  commission  I  under- 
take witli  pleasure,  and  I'll  execute  it 
with  zeal." 

He  left  her,  soon  after,  to  carry  out 
these  instructions,  and  that  very  even- 
ing he  was  in  the  wardrobe  of  tlie  lit- 
tle theatre,  rummaging  out  a  suitable 
costume,  and  also  in  close  conference 
with  thg  wig-maker. 

Next  day  Vizard  had  his  mother's 
sables  taken  out  and  aired,  and  drove 
Mademoiselle  Klosking  into  Tadding- 
ton  in  an  open  carriage.  Fanny  told 
her  they  were  his  mother's  sables,  and 
none  to  compare  witii  them  in  the 
country. 

On  returning,  she  tried  her  voice  to 
the  harmonium  in  her  own  antecham- 
_ber,  and  found  it  was  gaining  strength 
— like  herself. 

Meantime  Zoe  Vizard  met  Severne 
in  the  garden,  and  told  iiim  she  had 
written  to  Lord  U.xmoor,  and  he 
would  never  visit  her  again.  But  she 
did  not  make  light  of  the  sacrifice  this 


time.  She  had  sacrificed  her  own 
self-respect  as  well  as  Uxmoor's,  and 
she  was  sullen  and  tearful. 

He  had  to  be  very  wary  and  patient, 
or  she  would  have  parted  with  him 
too,  and  lied  from  both  of  them  to  her 
brotlier. 

Uxmoor's  wounded  pride  would 
have  been  soothed  could  be  have  been 
present  at  the  first  interview  of  this 
pair.  He  would  have  seen  Severne 
treated  with  a  hauteur  and  a  sort  of 
savageness  he  iiimself  was  safe  from, 
safe  ill  her  unsliaken  esteem. 

But  the  world  is  made  for  those 
who  can  keep  their  temper,  especially 
the  female  part  of  tlie  world. 

Sad,  kind,  and  loving,  but  never  ir- 
ritable, Severne  smoothed  down  and 
soothed  and  comforted  the  wounded 
girl ;  and,  seeing  her  two  or  tliree 
times  a  day — for  she  was  completely 
mistress  of  her  time — got  her  com- 
pletely into  his  power  again. 

Uxmoor  did  not  reply. 

She  had  made  her  selection.  Love 
beckoned  forward.  It  was  useless  to 
look  back. 

Love  was  omnipotent.  They  both 
began  to  recover  their  good  looks  as 
if  by  magic  ;  and  as  Severne's  pas- 
sion, though  wicked,  was  earnest,  no 
!)oor  bird  was  ever  more  comjjletely 
entangled  by  bird-lime  than  Zoe  was 
caught  by  Edward  Severne. 

Their  usual  place  of  meeting  was 
the  shrubbery  attached  to  Somerville 
Villa.  The  trees,  being  young,  made 
all  the  closer  shade,  and  the  gravel- 
walk  meandered,  and  siiut  tiiem  out 
from  view. 

Severne  used  to  enter  this  shrub- 
bery by  a  little  gate  leading  from  the 
meadow,  and  wait  under  the  tiees  till 
Zoe  came  to  him.  Vizard's  advertise- 
ments alarmed  him,  and  be  used  to 
see  the  coast  clear  before  he  entered 
the  shrubbery,  and  also  before  he  left 
it.  He  was  so  particular  in  this  that, 
observing  one  day  an  old  man  dodder- 
ing about  with  a  basket,  he  would  not 
go  in  till  he  had  taken  a  look  at  him. 
He  found  it  was  an  ancient  white- 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


215 


haired  villager  gathering  mushrooms. 
The  old  fellow  was  so  stiff,  and  his 
hand  so  trembling,  that  it  took  him 
about  a  minute  to  gather  a  single  fun- 
gus. 

To  give  a  reason  for  coming  up  to 
him,  iSeverne  said,  "How  old  are  you, 
old  man  ?" 

"1  be  ninety,  measter,  next  Mar- 
tinmasday." 

"Only  ninety?"  said  our  Adonis, 
contemptuously  ;  "you  look  a  hundred 
and  ninety." 

He  would  have  been  less  contempt- 
uous had  he  known  that  the  mush- 
rooms were  all  toad- stools,  and  the 
village  centenaire  was  Mr.  Josepii 
Ashmead,  resuming  his  original  arts, 
and  playing  Grandfather  Whitehead 
on  the  green  grass. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

Mademoiselle  Klosking  told 
Vizard  the  time  drew  near  when  she 
must  leave  his  hospitable  house. 

"Say  a  month  hence,"  said  he. 

Siie  shook  her  head. 

"Of  course  you  will  not  stay  to 
gratify  me,"  said  he,  half  sadly,  half 
bitterly.  "  But  you  will  have  to  stay 
a  week  or  two  longer  jiar  ordunnance 
du  medecin." 

"  My  physician  is  reconciled  to 
ray  going.  We  must  all  bow  to  ne- 
cessity." 

This  was  said  too  firmly  to  admit  a 
reply. 

"  The  old  house  will  seem  very  dark 
again  whenever  you  do  go,"  said  Viz- 
ard, plaintively. 

"  It  will  soon  be  brightened  by  her 
who  is  its  true  and  lasting  light,"  was 
the  steady  reply. 

A  day  or  two  passed  with  nothing 
to  record,  except  that  Vizard  hunK 
about  Ina  Klosking,  and  became,  if 
possible,  more  enamored  of  lier  and 
more  unwilling  to  part  with  her. 

Mr.  Ashmead  arrived  one  afternoon 
about  three  o'clock,  and  was  more  than 


an  hour  with  her.  They  conversed 
very  earnestly,  and  when  he  went,  Miss 
Gale  found  her  agitated. 

"This  will  not  do,"  said  she. 

"  It  will  pass,  my  friend,"  said  Ina. 
"I  will  sleep." 

She  laid  herself  down  and  slept  three 
hours  before  dinner. 

She  arose  refreshed,  and  dined  with 
the  little  party;  and  on  retiring  to  the 
drawing-room,  she  invited  Vizard  to 
join  them  at  his  convenience. 

He  made  it  his  convenience  in  ten 
minutes. 

Then  she  opened  the  piano,  played 
an  introduction,  and  electrified  them 
all  by  singing  the  leading  song  in 
Siebel.  Siie  did  not  sing  it  so  pow- 
erfully as  in  the  theatre ;  she  would 
not  have  done  that  even  if  she  could  : 
but  still  she  sung  it  out,  and  nobly.  It 
seemed  a  miracle  to  hear  such  singing 
in  a  room. 

Vizard  was  in  raptures. 

They  cooled  suddenly  when  she  re- 
minded him  what  he  had  said,  that  she 
must  stay  till  she  could  sing  Siebel's 
song.  "I  keep  to  the  letter  of  the 
contract,"  said  she.  "My  friends, 
this  is  my  last  night  at  Vizard  Court." 

"Please  try  and  shake  that  resolu- 
tion," said  Vizard,  gravely,  to  Mesde- 
moiselles  Dover  and  Gale. 

"They  can  not,"  said  Inn.  "  It  is 
my  destiny.  And  yet,"  said  she,  aft- 
er a  pause,  "I  would  not  have  you  re- 
member me  by  that  flimsy  thing.  Let 
me  sing  you  a  song  your  mother  loved ; 
let  me  be  remembered  in  this  house, 
as  a  singer,  by  tliat." 

Then  she  sung  Handel's  song : 

"What  tliontrh  I  trace  each  herb  and  flower 
Thai  decks  the  nioniing  dew? 
Did  I  not  own  Jehovah's  power, 
Uow  vain  were  all  I  knew." 

She  sung  it  with  amazing  purity, 
volume,  grandeur,  and  power;  the 
lustres  rang  and  shook,  the  hearts 
were  thrilled,  and  the  very  souls  of  the 
hearers  ravished.  She  herself  turned 
a  little  pale  in  singing  it,  and  the  tears 
stood  in  her  eyes. 

The  song  and  its  interpretation  were 


21G 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


so  far  above  what  passes  for  music  that 
they  nil  felt  comiiliineiits  would  be  an 
iniperliiieiice.  'I'lieir  eyes  ami  tlieir 
loiig-diawii  breath  |):iiii  the  tiiie  liotn- 
age  to  tliat  great  master  ligbtly  inter- 
preted— a  very  rare  occurrence. 

"Ah!"  said  she;  "that  was  the 
hand  could  brandish  Goliath's  spear." 

'"And  this  is  how  you  I'econcile  us 
to  losing  you,"  said  Vizard.  "You 
might  stay,  at  least,  till  you  had  gone 
through  niv  poor  mother's  collection." 

"Ah!  I  wish  I  could.  But  I  can 
not.  I  must  not.  My  Fate  forbids 
it." 

"  '  Fate '  and  '  destiny,'  "  said  Viz- 
ard, "stuff  and  nonsense.  We  make 
our  own  destiny.  l\Iine  is  to  be  eter- 
nally disappoitited,  and  happiness 
snatched  out  of  my  hands." 

He  had  no  sooner  made  this  pretty 
speech  than  he  was  a-hamed  of  it,  and 
stalked  out  of  the  room,  not  to  say  any 
more  unwise  things. 

This  burst  of  spleen  alarmed  Faimy 
Dover.  "There,"  said  she,  "now you 
can  not  go.     He  is  very. angry." 

Ina  Klosking  said  slie  was  sorry  for 
that;  but  he  was  too  just  a  man  to 
be  angry  with  her  long:  the  day  would 
come  when  he  would  api)r()ve  her  con- 
duct. Her  lip  qiiiveretl  a  little  as  she 
said  this,  and  the  water  stood  in  her 
eyes:  and  this  was  remembered  and 
understood,  long  after,  both  by  Miss 
Dover  and  Rlioda  Gale. 

"When  does  yoiu"  Royal  Highness 
propose  to  start?'  inquired  Rhoda 
Gale,  very  obsequiously,  and  just  a 
little  bitterly. 

"To-morrow  at  half- past  nine 
o'clock,  dear  fiiend,"  said  Ina. 

"Then  you  will  not  go  without  me. 
You  will  get  the  better  of  Mr.  Vizard, 
because  he  is  only  a  man  ;  but  I  am  a 
woman,  and  iiave  a  will  as  well  as  you. 
If  you  make  a  journey  to-morrow,  I 
go  with  you.  Deny  me,  and  you 
sha'n't  go  at  all."  Her  eyes  flashed 
defiance. 

Ina  moved  one  step,  took  Rhoda's 
little  defiant  head,  and  kissed  her 
cheek.     "Sweet  physician  and  kind 


friend,  of  course  you  shall  go  with  me, 
if  you  will,  and  be  a  great  blessing  to 
me." 

This  reconciled  Miss  Gale  to  the 
proceedings.  She  packed  up  a  car- 
pet-bag, and  was  up  early,  making 
provisions  of  every  sort  for  her  pa- 
tient's journey  :  air-pillows,  soft  warm 
coverings,  medicaments,  stimulants, 
etc.,  in  a  little  bag  slung  across  her 
shoulders.  Thus  furnished,  and  equip- 
ped in  a  uniform  suit  of  gray  cloth 
and  wide-awake  hat,  she  cut  a  very 
sprightly  and  commanding  figtue,  but 
more  like  Diana  than  Hebe. 

The  Klosking  came  down,  a  pale 
Juno,  in  traveling  costume ;  and  a 
quarter  qf  an  hour  before  the  time  a 
pair-horse  fly  was  at  the  door  and  Mr. 
Ashmead  in  the  hall. 

The  ladies  were  both  ready. 

But  Vizard  had  not  appeared. 

This  caused  an  uneasy  discussion. 

"He  must  be  very  angry,"  said 
Fanny,  in  a  half-whis])er. 

"  I  can  not  go  while  he  is,"  sighed 
La  Klosking.  "  There  is  a  limit  even 
to  mv  courage." 

"Air.  Harris,"  said  Rhoda,  "would 
you  mind  telling  Mr.  Vizard?" 

"Well,  miss,"  said  Harris,  softly, 
"I  did  step  in  and  tell  him.  Which 
he  told  me  to  go  to  the  devil,  miss — 
a  hobservation  1  never  knew  him  to 
make  befoie." 

This  was  not  encouraging.  Yet 
the  Klosking  quietly  inquired  where 
he  was. 

"In  there,  ma'am,"  said  Harris. 
"In  his  study." 

Mademoiselle  Klosking,  placed  be- 
tween two  alternatives,  decided  with 
her  usual  resolution.  She  walked 
immediately  to  the  door  and  tapj)ed 
at  it;  then,  scarcely  waiting  for  an 
instant,  opened  it  and  walked  in  with 
seeming  firmness,  though  her  heart 
was  beating  rather  high. 

The  peojile  outside  looked  at  one 
another.  "I  wonder  whether  he  will 
tell  her  to  go  to  the  devil,"  said  Fan- 
ny, who  was  getting  tired  of  being 
good. 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


117 


"No  use,"  snid  Miss  Gale;  "she 
doesn't  know  the  road." 

When  La  Klosking  entered  the 
study,  Vizard  was  seated,  disconso- 
late, with  two  pictures  before  him. 
His  face  was  full  of  i)ain,  and  La  Klos- 
king's  heart  smote  her.  She  moved 
toward  him,  hanging  her  head,  and 
said,  witii  inimitable  sweetness  and 
tenderness,  "Here  is  a  culprit  come 
to  try  and  appease  you." 

Tliere  came  a  time  that  he  could 
hardly  think  of  these  words  an<l  her 
penitent,  submissive  manner  with  diy 
eyes.  But  just  then  his  black  dog 
had  bitten  him,  and  he  said,  sullenly, 
"  Oh,  never  mind  me.  It  was  always 
so.  Your  sex  have  always  made  me 
smart  for —  If  Hying  from  my  house 
before  you  are  half  recovered  gives 
you  half  the  pleasure  it  gives  me  pain 
and  mortification,  say  no  more  about 
it." 

"Ah!  why  say  it  gives  me  pleas- 
ure? My  friend,  you  can  not  really 
think  so." 

"I  don't  know  what  to  think. 
You  ladies  are  all  riddles." 

"Then  I  must  take  you  into  my 
confidence,  and,  with  some  reluctance, 
I  own,  let  you  know  why  I  leave  this 
dear,  kind  roof  to-day." 

Vizard's  generosity  took  the  alarm. 
"No,"  he  said,  "I  will  not  extort 
your  reasons.  It  is  a  shame  of  me. 
Your  bare  will  ought  to  be  law  in  this 
Jiouse ;  and  what  reasons  could  rec- 
oncile me  to  losing  you  so  suddenly  ? 
Yoir  are  tiie  joy  of  our  eyes,  the  de- 
light of  our  ears,  the  idol  of  all  our 
hearts.  You  will  leave  us,  and  there 
will  be  darkness  and  gloom,  instead  of 
sunshine  and  song.  Well,  go ;  but  you 
can  not  soften  the  blow  with  reasons." 

Mademoiselle  Klosking  flushed,  and 
her  bosom  heaved ;  for  this  was  a 
strong  man,  greatly  moved.  With 
instinctive  tact,  she  saw  the  best  way 
to  bring  him  to  his  senses  was  to  give 
him  a  good  opening  to  retreat. 

•'Ah,  monsieur, "said  she,  "you  are 
trap  grand  seigneur.     You   entertain 
a  poor  wounded  singer  in  a  chamber 
10 


few  princes  can  equal.  You  place 
every  thing  at  her  disposal ;  such  a 
physician  and  nurse  as  no  queen  can 
command;  a  choir  to  sing  to  her; 
royal  sables  to  keep  the  wind  fiom 
her,  and  ladies  to  wait  on  her.  And 
when  you  have  brought  her  back  to 
life,  you  say  to  yourself.  She  is  a 
woman ;  she  will  not  be  thoroughly 
content  unless  you  tell  her  she  is  ador- 
able. So,  out  of  politeness,  you  de- 
scend to  the  language  of  gallantry. 
This  was  not  needed.  1  dispense 
with  that  kind  of  comfort.  I  leave 
your  house  because  it  is  my  duty,  and 
leave  it  your  grateful  servant  and  true 
friend  to  my  last  hour." 

She  had  opened  the  door,  and  Viz- 
ard could  now  escape.  His  obstinacy 
and  his  heart  would  not  let  him. 

"Do  not  fence  with  me,"  said  he. 
"Leave  that  to  others.  It  is  beneath 
you.  If  you  had  been  content  to  stay, 
I  would  have  been  content  to  show 
my  heart  by  halves.  Eut  when  you 
offer  to  leave  me,  you  draw  from  me 
an  avowal  I  can  no  longer  restrain, 
and  you  must  and  shall  listen  to  it. 
When  I  saw  you  on  the  stnge  at 
Ilomburg,  I  admired  you  and  loved 
you  that  very  night.  TJut  I  knew 
from  experience  how  seldom  in  wom- 
en outward  gi'aces  go  with  the  virtues 
of  the  soul.  I  distrusted  my  judg- 
ment. I  feared  you  and  I  fled  you. 
But  our  destiny  brought  you  here,  and 
when  I  held  you,  pale  and  wounded, 
in  my  very  arms,  my  heart  seemed  to 
go  out  of  my  bosom." 

"Oh,  no  more!  no  more,  pray!" 
cried  IMademoiselie  Klosking. 

But  the  current  of  love  was  not  to 
be  stemmed.  "Since  that  terrible 
hour  I  have  been  in  heaven,  watching 
your  gradual  and  sure  recovery ;  but 
you  iiave  recovered  only  to  abandon 
me,  and  your  hurry  to  leave  me  drives 
me  to  desperation.  No,  I  can  not 
part  with  you.  You  must  not  leave 
me,  citl)erthis  day  or  any  day.  Give 
me  your  hand,  and  stay  here  forever, 
and  be  the  queen  of  my  heart  and  of 
mv  house." 


218 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


For  some  time  La  Klosking  had  lost 
her  usual  coiiiposiiic.  Her  bosom 
heaved  tumiiltiioiisly,  and  her  hands 
trembled.  IJiit  at  this  distinct  pro- 
posal the  whole  woman  changed.  !She 
drew  herself  up,  with  iier  i)ale  cheek 
Hushing  and  her  eyes  glittering. 

"What,  sir?"  said  she.  "Have 
you  read  me  so  ill  ?  Do  you  not  know 
I  would  rather  be  the  meanest  drudge 
that  goes  on  her  knees  and  scrubs 
your  floors,  than  be  queen  of  your 
house,  as  you  call  it  ?  Ah,  Jesu,  are 
all  men  alike,  tlien  ;  that  he  whom  I 
have  so  revered,  whose  mother's  songs 
I  have  sung  to  him,  makes  me  a  ))ro- 
posal  dishonorable  to  me  and  to  him- 
self?" 

"Dishonorable!"  cried  Vizard. 
"Why,  wiuxt  can  any  man  oft'er  to 
any  woman  more  honorable  than  I 
offer  you  ?  I  ofl'er  you  my  iieart  and 
my  hand,  and  I  say,  do  not  go,  my 
darling.  Stay  here  forever,  and  be 
my  queen,  my  goddess,  my  wife !" 

"Your  avife?"  She  stared  wild- 
ly at  him.  "Your  wife?  Am  I 
dreaming,  or  are  you  ?" 

"Neither.  Do  you  think  I  can  be 
content  with  less  tiian  that  ?  Ina,  I 
adore  you." 

She  put  her  hand  to  her  head.  "  I 
know  not  who  is  to  blame  for  this," 
said  slie,  and  she  trembled  visii)ly. 

"  I'll  take  tiie  blame,"  said  he, 
gayly. 

Said  Ina,  very  gravely,  "You,  wlio 
do  me  the  honor  to  ofi'er  me  your 
luime,  have  you  asked  yourself  serious- 
ly what  has  been  the  nature  of  my  re- 
lation with  Edward  Sevcrne?" 

"No!"  cried  Vizard,  violently; 
"and  I  do  not  mean  to.  I  see  you 
dcsjjise  him  now  ;  and  1  have  my  eyes 
and  my  senses  to  guide  me  in  choos- 
ing a  wife.  I  choose  you — if  you  will 
have  me." 

She  listened,  then  turned  her  moist 
eyes  full  upon  him,  and  said  to  him, 
"This  is  tiie  greatest  honor  ever  be- 
fell me.     I  can  not  take  it." 

"Not  take  it?" 

"No;   but  that  is  my  misfortune. 


Do  not  be  mortified.  You  have  no 
rival  in  my  esteem.  What  shall  I 
say,  my  friend  ? — at  least  1  may  call 
you  that.  If  I  explain  now,  I  shall 
weep  much,  and  lose  my  strength. 
What  shall  I  do  ?  I  think— yes,  tiiat 
will  be  best — you  shall  go  ivith  me  to- 
day." 

"To  the  end  of  the  world!" 

"  Something  tells  me  you  will  know 
all,  and  forgive  me." 

"Shall  I  take  my  bag?" 

' '  You  might  take  an  evening  dress 
and  some  linen." 

"Very  well.  I  won't  keep  you  a 
moment,"  said  he,  and  went  up  stairs 
with  great  alacrity. 

She  went  into  the  hall,  with  her 
eyes  bent  on  the  ground,  and  was 
immediately  pinned  by  ]{hoda  Gale, 
whose  piercing  eye,  and  inquisitive 
finger  on  her  pulse,  soon  discovered 
that  she  had  gone  through  a  trying 
scene.  "This  is  a  bad  beginning  of 
an  imprudent  journey,"  said  she :  "I 
have  a  great  mind  to  countermand 
the  carriage. " 

"No,  no,"  said  Ina  ;  "I  will  sleep 
in  the  railway  and  recover  myself." 

The  ladies  now  got  into  tlie  car- 
riage ;  Aslimead  insisted  on  going 
upon  the  box ;  and  Vizard  soon  ap- 
jieared,  and  took  his  seat  opposite 
Miss  Gale  and  Mademoiselle  Klos- 
king. The  latter  wliispercd  her  doc- 
tress :  "It  would  be  wise  of  me  not 
to  speak  much  at  present."  La  Gale 
communicated  this  to  Vizard,  and 
they  drove  along  in  dead  silence.  "But 
they  were  naturally  curious  to  know  .■ 
where  they  were  going  ;  so  they  held  '|| 
some  communication  with  their  eyes. 
They  very  soon  found  they  were  go- 
ing to  Taddington  Station. 

Then  came  a  doubt — were  they  go- 
ing up  or  down  ? 

That  was  soon  resolved. 

Mr.  Ashmead  had  hired  a  saloon 
carriage  for  them,  with  couches  and       J 
conveniences.  "^ 

They  entered  it;  and  Mademoi- 
selle Klosking  said  to  Miss  Gale,  "It 
is  necessary  that  I  should  sleep." 


A  WOMAN-HATEK. 


219 


"You  shall,"  said  l\Iiss  Gale. 

While  she  was  ananging  the  pil- 
lows and  things,  La  Klosking  said  to 
Vizard,  "We  artists  learn  to  sleep 
when  we  have  work  to  do.  Witiiont 
it  I  should  not  be  strong  enough  this 
day."  She  said  this  in  a  half-apolo- 
getic tone,  as  one  anxious  not  to  give 
him  any  shadow  of  otlense. 

She  was  asleep  in  five  minutes  ;  and 
]Mis.s  Gale  sat  watching  her  at  first, 
but  presently  joined  Vizard  at  the  oth- 
er end,  and  they  whispered  together. 
Said  she,  "  What  becomes  of  the  the- 
ory that  women  have  no  strength  of 
will?  There  is  Mademoiselle  Je  le 
veux  in  person.  When  she  M'ants  to 
sleep,  she  sleeps ;  and  look  at  you  and 
me — do  you  know  \vhere  ^ve  are  go- 
ing?" 

"No." 

"  No  more  do  T.  The  motive  pow- 
er is  that  personification  of  divine  re- 
pose there.  How  beautiful  she  is  with 
her  sweet  lips  parted,  and  her  white 
teeth  peeping,  and  her  upper  and  lower 
lashes  wedded,  and  how  graceful  I' 

"She  is  a  goddess,"  said  Vizard. 
"I  wish  I  had  never  seen  her.  JIark 
mv  words,  she  will  give  me  the  sorest 
heart  of  all." 

"  I  hope  not,"  said  Rhoda,  very  se- 
riously. 

Ina  slept  sweetly  for  nearly  two 
hours,  and  all  that  time  her  friends 
could  only  guess  where  they  were  go- 
ing. 

At  last  the  train  stopped,  for  tlie 
sixtii  time,  and  Ashmead  opened  the 
door. 

Tliis  worthy,  who  was  entirely  in 
command  of  the  expedition,  collected 
the  luggage,  including  Vizard's  bag, 
and  deposited  it  at  the  station.  He 
tiien  introduced  the  jiarty  to  a  paii- 
liorse  fly,  and  mounted  the  box. 

^Vilen  they  stopped  at  Bagley,  Viz- 
ard suspected  where  they  were  going. 

When  he  saw  the  direction  the  car- 
nage took,  he  knew  it,  and  turned 
very  grave  indeed. 

He  even  regretted  that  he  had  put 
himself  so  blindlv  under  the  coutiol  of 


a  woman.  He  cast  searching  glances 
at  Mademoiselle  Klosking  to  try  and 
discover  what  on  earth  she  was  going 
to  do.  But  her  face  Avas  as  impen- 
etrable as  marble.  Still,  she  never 
looked  less  likely  to  do  any  thing  rash 
or  in  bad  taste.  Quietness  was  the 
main  characteristic  of  her  face,  when 
not  rippled  over  by  a  ravishing  sweet- 
ness ;  but  he  had  never  seen  her  look 
so  great,  and  lofty,  and  resolute  as  she 
looked  now  ;  a  little  stern,  too,  as  one 
who  had  a  great  duty  to  do,  and  was 
iniiexible  as  iron.  When  truly  fem- 
inine features  stitfen  into  marble  like 
this,  beaut)'  is  indeed  imperial,  and 
worthy  of  epic  song ;  it  rises  beyond 
the  wing  of  prose. 

My  reader  is  too  intelligent  not  to 
divine  that  she  was  steeling  herself  to 
a  terrible  interview  with  Zoe  Vizard 
— terrible  mainly  on  account  of  the 
anguish  she  knew  she  must  inflict. 

But  we  can  rarely  carry  out  our 
plans  exactly  as  we  trace  them — un- 
expected circumstances  derange  them 
or  expand  them  ;  and  I  will  so  far  an- 
ticipate as  to  say  tiiat  in  this  case  a 
most  unexpected  turn  of  events  took 
La  Klosking  by  siu'prise. 

Whether  she  proved  equal  to  the  oc- 
casion these  pages  will  show  very  soon. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

PoiKiLus  never  left  Taddington  — 
only  the  "Swan."  ]\Iore  than  once 
he  was  within  sight  of  Ashmead  unob- 
served. Once,  indeed,  that  gentleman, 
wiio  had  a  great  respect  for  dignita- 
ries, saluted  him  ;  for  at  that  moment 
Poikilus  happened  to  be  a  sleek  digni- 
tary of  the  Cliurcli  of  England.  I'oi- 
kiliis,  when  (piite  himself,  wore  a  mus- 
tache, and  was  sallow,  and  lean  as  a 
weasel ;  but  he  shaved  and  stuil'ed  and 
colored  for  the  dean.  Shovel -hat, 
portly  walk,  and  green  sjiectaclcs  did 
tiie  rest.  Grandfather  Whitehead  sa- 
luted.    His  reverence  chuckled. 

Toikilus  kept  Severne  posted  by  let- 


' 


220 


A  WOMAX-IIATER. 


ter  and  wire  as  to  many  things  that 
happened  ontside  Yizuid  Court;   but 
he  could  not  divine  tlie  storm  tliat  was 
brewing  inside  Ina  Klosking's  room. 
Yet  !>everne  defended  liiniseif  exact- 
ly as  lie  would  have  done  had  he  known 
all.     lie  and  Zoe  spent  Elvsian  hours, 
meeting;  twice  a  day  in  the  shrubbery, 
and  making  love  as  if  they  were  the 
only  two  creatures  in  the  world  ;  but  it 
was  blind  Elysium  only  to  one  of  tliem 
— Scverne  was  uneasy  and  alarmed  tiie 
whole  time.     His  sagacity  showed  him 
it  could  not  last,  and  ihere  was  always 
a  creeiiing  terror  on  him.     Would  not 
Uxmoor  cause  inquiries  ?     Would  he 
not  be  sure  to  tell  Vizard?     Would 
not  Vizard  come  there  to  look  after 
Zoe,  or  order  her  back  to  Vizard  Court  ? 
Would  not  the  Kloskiug  get  well,  and 
interfere  once  more?     He  passed  the 
time  between  heaven  and  hell ;  when- 
ever he  was  not  under  the  immediate 
spell  of  Zoe's  presence,  a  sort  of  vague 
terror  was  always  on  him.     He  looked 
all  round  him,  wherever  he  went. 

Tiiis  terror,  and  his  passion,  which 
was  now  as  violent  as  it  was  wicked, 
■soon  drove  him  to  conceive  desperate 
measures.  But,  by  masterly  self-gov- 
ernment, he  kept  tliem  two  days  to  his 
own  bosom.  He  felt  it  was  too  soon 
to  rai-;e  a  fresh  and  painful  discussion 
witli  Zoe.  He  must  let  her  drink  un- 
mixed delight,  and  get  a  taste  for  it; 
and  then  sliow  her  on  what  conditions 
alone  it  could  be  had  forever. 

It  was  on  the  third  day  after  their 
reconciliation  she  found  him  seated  on 
a  bench  in  tlie  shrubbery,  lost  in 
thought,  and  lookiug  very  dejected. 
She  was  close  to  him  before  he  no- 
ticed ;  then  he  sprung  up,  stared  at 
lier,  and  began  to  kiss  her  hands  vio- 
lentlv,  and  even  her  very  dress. 

"it  is  you,"  said  he,  "  once  more." 
"Yes, 'dear,"    said   Zoe,  tenderly ; 
"did  you  think  I  would  not  come?" 

"  Idid  not  know  whether  you  could 
come.  I  feel  that  my  hapjiiness  can 
not  last  long.  And,  Zoe  dear,  I  have 
had  a  dream.  1  dreamed  we  were 
taken  prisoners,  and  carried  to  Vizard 


Court,  and  on  the  steps  stood  Vizard 
and  Jlademoiselle  Klosking  arm-in- 
arm ;  I  believe  they  were  man  and 
wife.  And  you  were  taken  out  and 
led,  weeping,  into  the  house,  and  I  was 
left  there  raging  with  agony.  And 
then  that  lady  jnit  out  her  finger  in  a 
commanding  way,  and  I  was  whirled 
away  into  utter  darkness,  and  I  heard 
you  moan,  and  I  fouglit,  and  dashed 
my  head  against  the  carriage,  and  1 
felt  my  heart  burst,  and  my  wiiole  body 
fdled  "with  some  cold  liipiid,  and  I 
went  to  sleep,  and  I  heard  a  voice  say, 
'It  is  all  over;  his  trouble  is  ended.' 
I  was  dead." 

This  narrative,  and  his  deep  dejec- 
tion, set  Zoe's  tears  flowing.  "Poor 
Edward  !"  she  sighed.  "I  would  not 
survive  you.  But  cheer  np,  dear ;  it 
was  only  a  dream.  We  arc  not  slaves. 
1  am  not  dependent  on  any  one.  How 
can  we  be  parted  ?" 

"We  shall,  unless  we  use  our  op- 
portunity, and  make  it  impossible  to 
par.t  us.     Zoe,  do  not  slight  my  alarm 
and  my  misgivings  ;  such  warnings  are 
prophetic.     For  Heaven's  sake,  make 
one  sacrifice  more,  and  let  us  place  our 
ha])i)incss  beyond  the  reach  of  man!" 
"Only  tell  me  how." 
"There  is  but  one  way — marriage." 
Zoe  blushed  high,  anil  panted  a  lit- 
tle, but  said  nothing. 


Ah!"  said  he,  i)iteously,  "I  ask 
too  much." 

"  How  can  you  say  that  ?"  said  Zoe. 
"Of  course  I  shall  marry  you,  dear- 
est. What!  do  yon  think  I  could  do 
what  I  have  done  for  any  body  but  my 
husband  that  is  to  be?" 

"I  was  mad  to  think  otherwise," 
said  he,  "but  I  am  in  low  spirits, 
and  full  of  misgivings.  Oh,  the  com- 
fort, the  bliss,  the  peace  of  mind,  the 
joy,  if  you  would  see  our  hazardous 
condition,  and  make  all  safe  by  mar- 
rying me  to-morrow." 

"  To-morrow  !  Why,  I'Alward,  are 
yon  mad?  How  can  we  be  married, 
"so  long  as  my  brother  is  so  prejudiced 
against  you?'' 

"If  we  wait  bis  consent,  we  arc 


{ 


i 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


221 


parted  forever.  He  would  forgive  us 
after  it — tiiat  is  certain.  But  lie  would 
never  consent.  He  is  too  much  un- 
der the  influence  of  his — of  Mademoi- 
selle Klosking." 

"  Indeed,  I  can  not  hope  he  will 
consent  beforehand,"  siglied  Zoe; 
"but  I  have  not  the  courage  to  defy 
him  ;  and  if  I  had,  we  could  not  mar- 
ry all  in  a  moment,  like  that.  We 
sliould  have  to  be  cried  in  church." 

"That  is  cpiite  gone  out  among  la- 
dies and  gentlemen." 

"Not  in  our  family.  Besides,  even 
a  special  license  takes  time,  I  sup- 
pose. Oh  no,  I  could  not  be  married 
in  a  clandestine,  discreditable  way.  I 
am  a  Vizard — jilease  remember  tliat. 
^V'ould  you  degrade  the  woman  you 
lionor  with  your  choice?" 

And  her  red  clieeks  and  flashing 
eves  warned  him  to  desist. 
'  "  God  forbid !"  said  he.     "  If  that 
is  the  alternative,  I  consent  to  lose  her 
■ — and  lose  her  I  shall." 

He  then  aflected  te  dismiss  the 
subject,  and  said,  "Let  me  enjoy  the 
hours  that  are  left  me.  Much  misery 
or  much  bliss  can  be  condensed  in  a 
few  days.  I  will  enjoy  tiie  blessed 
time,  and  we  will  wait  for  the  ciiap- 
ter  of  accidents  that  is  sure  to  part 
us."  Then  he  acted  reckless  happi- 
ness, and  broke  down  at  last. 

She  cried,  but  sliowed  no  sign  of 
yielding.  Iler  pride  and  self-respect 
were  roused  and  on  tlicir  defense. 

Tiie  next  dav  he  came  to  her  quiet- 
Iv  sad.  He  seemed  languid  and  list- 
less, and  to  care  for  nothing.  He  was 
artful  enougii  to  tell  her,  on  the  infor- 
mation of  Poikihis,  that  Vizard  had 
hired  the  cathedral  choir  three  times 
a  week  to  sing  to  his  inamorata ;  and 
tliat  lie  had  driven  bcr  about  Tadding- 
ton,  dressed,  like  a  duciiess,  in  a  wIujIc 
suit  of  sables. 

At  that  word  the  girl  turned  pale. 

He  observed,  and  contimied  :  "And 
it  seems  these  sables  are  known 
throughout  the  county.  There  were 
several  carriages  in  the  town,  and  my 
informant  heard  a  lady  say  they  were 


Mrs.  Vizard's  sables,  worth  five  hun- 
dred guineas — a  Russian  princess  gave 
them  iier." 

" It  is  quite  true,"  said  Zoe.  "His 
mother's  sables!     Is  it  possible!" 

"  They  all  say  he  is  caught  at  last, 
and  this  is  to  be  the  next  Mrs. Vizard." 

"  Tiiey  may  ■well  say  so,  if  he  pa- 
rades her  in  iiis  mother's  sables,"  said 
Zoe,  and  coidd  not  conceal  her  jeal- 
ousy and  her  indignation.  "I  never 
dared  so  much  as  ask  his  permission 
to  wear  tliem,"  said  she. 

"And  if  you  had,  he  would  have 
told  yon  the  relics  of  a  saint  were  not 
to  be  played  witii." 

"'I'iiat  is  just  what  he  woidd  have 
said,  I  do  believe."  The  female  heart 
was  stung. 

"Ail,  well,"  said  Severne,  "I  am 
sure  I  should  not  grudge  him  his  hap- 
piness, if  you  would  see  things  as  he 
does,  and  be  as  brave  as  he  is." 

"Thank  you,"  said  Zoe.  "Wom- 
en can  not  defy  the  world  as  men  do." 
Then,  passionately,  "  Why  do  von  toi- 
ment  me  so  ?  why  do  you  urge  me  so  ? 
a  poor  girl,  all  alone,  and  far  from  ad- 
vice. What  on  earth  would  you  have 
me  do?" 

"  [Secure  us  against  another  sepa- 
ration, unite  us  in  bliss  forever." 

"And  so  I  would  if  I  could;  you 
know  I  would.    But  it  is  impossible." 

"No,  Zoe;  it  is  easy.  There  are 
two  ways :  we  can  reach  Scotland  in 
eiglit  horns;  and  there,  by  a  simjde 
writing  ami  declaration  before  wit- 
nesses, we  are  man  ami  wife."' 

"A  Gretna  Green  marriage?" 

"  It  is  just  as  much  a  legal  marriage 
as  if  a  bishoj)  married  ns  at  St.  Paul's. 
However,  we  coidd  follow  it  up  imme- 
diately by  marriage  in  a  church,  eitlier 
in  Scotland  or  tiie  North  of  England. 
But  there  is  another  way  :  we  can  be 
married  at  Bagley,  any  day,  before  the 
registrar." 

"Is  that  a  marriage  —  a  real  mar- 
riage ?" 

"  As  real,  as  legal,  as  binding  as  a 
wedding  in  St.  Paul's. " 

"Nobodv  in  this  countv  has  ever 


222 


A  WOJIAN-IIATER. 


been  maviied  so.  I  should  blush  to 
be  seen  about  after  it." 

"  Our  first  liappy  year  would  not  be 
passed  in  this  country.  We  sliould  go 
abroad  for  six  inontlis." 

"Ay,  fly  from  shaiue." 

"On  our  return  we  sliould  be  re- 
ceived with  o))en  aiins  by  my  own 
]ieo]ile  in  Huntingdonshire,  until  your 
jjcojile  came  round,  as  tliey  always 
do." 

He  then  showed  her  a  letter,  in 
wliirh  his  pcail  of  a  cousin  said  they 
■would  receive  his  wife  with  open  arms, 
and  make  her  as  liappy  as  they  could. 
Uncle  Tom  was  condng  home  from 
India,  with  two  hundred  thousand 
])ouuds  ;  lie  was  a  conlirmed  old  bach- 
elor, and  Edward  his  favorite,  etc. 

Zoe  faltered  a  little :  so  then  he 
pressed  her  hard  witli  love,  and  en- 
treaties, and  promises,  and  even  hys- 
terical tears  ;  then  she  began  to  cry — 
a  sure  sign  of  yielding.  "Give  me 
time,"siie  said — "give  me  time." 

He  groaned,  and  said  there  was  no 
time  to  lose.  Otherwise  he  never 
would  have  urged  her  so. 

For  all  that,  she  could  not  be  drawn 
to  a  decision.  ISlie  must  think  over 
such  a  step. 

Next  morning,  at  the  usual  time, 
he  came  to  know  his  fate.  15ut  slie 
did  not  appear.  He  waited  an  hour 
for  her.  IShe  did  not  come.  He  be- 
gan to  rage  and  storm,  and  curse  his 
folly  for  driving  her  so  hard. 

At  last  slie  came,  and  found  him 
pale  with  an.xicty,  and  looking  utter- 
ly miserable.  Slie  told  biin  she  had 
passed  a  sleepless  night,  and  her  head 
had  ached  so  in  the  morning  she  could 
not  move. 

"ily  poor  darling!"  said  he  ;  "and 
I  am  the  cause.  Say  no  more  about 
it,  dear  one.  I  see  you  do  not  love 
me  as  I  love  yon,  and  I  forgive  you." 

yiie  smiled  sadly  at  that,  for  she 
was  surer  of  her  own  love  than  his. 

Zoe  had  jiassed  a  night  of  torment 
and  vacillation  :  and  but  for  her  broth- 
er iiaving  jiaradcd  Mademoiselle  Klos- 
king  in  his  mother's  sables,  she  would, 


I  think,  hare  held  out.  But  this  turn- 
ed iier  a  little  against  her  brother;  and, 
as  he  was  the  main  obstacle  to  her 
union  Avith  Severne,  love  and  pity  con- 
([uered.  Yet  still  Honor  and  I'lide 
had  their  say.  "Edward,"  said  she, 
"I  love  you  with  all  my  heart,  and 
share  ycfur  fears  that  accident  may 
separate  us.  I  will  let  you  decide  for 
both  of  us.  IJut,  before  you  decide, 
be  warned  of  one  thing.  I  am  a  girl 
no  longer,  but  a  woman  who  has  been 
distracted  with  many  passions.  If 
any  slur  rests  on  my  fair  name,  deeply 
as  I  love  you  now,  I  shall  abhor  you 
then." 

He  turned  pale,  for  her  eye  flashed 
dismay  into  bis  craven  soul. 

He  said  nothing;  and  she  contin- 
ued: "If  you  insist  on  this  hasty, 
half-clandestine  marriage,  then  I  con- 
sent to  this  —  I  will  go  with  you  be- 
fore the  registrar,  and  I  shall  come 
back  here  directly.  Next  morning 
early  we  will  start  for  Scotland,  and 
be  married  that  other  way  before  wit- 
nesses. Then  your  fears  will  be  at 
an  end,  for  you  believe  in  these  mar- 
riages ;  only,  as  I  do  not — for  I  look 
on  these  U'(jnl  marriages  merely  as  sol- 
emn betrothals  —  I  shall  be  Miss  Zoe 
\'izard,  and  expect  you  to  treat  me 
so,  until  I  have  been  married  in  a 
church,  like  a  lady." 

"Of  course  you  shall,"  said  he; 
and  overwhelmed  her  with  expres- 
sions of  gratitude,  respect,  and  aflec- 
tion. 

This  soothed  her  troubled  mind, 
and  she  let  him  take  her  hand  and 
pour  his  honeyed  flatteries  into  her 
ear,  as  he  walked  her  slowly  up  and 
down. 

She  could  hardly  tear  herself  away 
from  the  soft  pressure  of  his  hand  and 
the  fascination  of  his  tongue,  and  she 
left  iiim,  more  madly  in  love  with  him 
than  ever,  and  ready  to  face  any  thing 
but  dishonor  for  him.  She  was  to 
come  out  at  twelve  o'clock,  and  walk 
into  Bagley  wiih  him  to  betroth  her- 
self to  him,  as  she  ciiose  to  consider 
it,  before  the  stipendiary  magistrate, 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


22S 


who  married  couples  in  tliat  way.  Of 
the  two  marriages  she  had  consented 
to,  merely  as  preliminaries  to  a  real 
marriage,  Zoe  despised  this  the  most ; 
for  the  Scotch  marriage  was,  at  all 
events,  ancient,  and  respectable  lovers 
had  been  driven  to  it  again  and  again. 

She  was  behind  her  time,  and  Sev- 
eme  thought  her  courage  had  failed 
her,  after  all.  But  no:  at  half-past 
twelve  she  came  out,  and  walked  brisk- 
ly toward  Bagley. 

He  was  beiiind  her,  and  followed 
her.  She  took  his  arm  nervously. 
"Let  me  feel  you  all  the  way,"  she 
said,  "to  give  me  courage." 

So  they  walked  arm-in-arm  ;  and, 
as  they  went,  his  courage  secretly  wa- 
vered, hers  rose  at  every  step. 

About  half  a  mile  from  the  town 
they  met  a  carriage  and  pair. 

At  sight  of  tiiem  a  gentleman  on 
the  box  tapped  at  the  glass  window, 
and  said,  hurriedly,  "Here  they  are 
together." 

Mademoiselle  Klosking  said,  "  Stop 
the  carriage:"  then,  pausing  a  little, 
"]Mr.  Vizard — on  your  word  of  hon- 
or, no  violence." 

The  carriage  was  drawn  up.  Ash- 
mead  opened  the  door  in  a  trice,  and 
La  Klosking,  followed  by  Vizard,  step- 
ped out,  and  stood  like  a  statue  before 
Kdward  Severne  and  Zoe  Vizard. 

Severne  dropped  her  arm  directly, 
and  was  panic-stricken. 

Zoe  uttered  a  little  scream  at  the 
sight  of  Vizard ;  but  tiie  next  mo- 
ment took  fire  at  her  rival's  audacity, 
and  stejiped  boldly  before  her  lover, 
witli  flashing  eyes  and  expanded  nos- 
trils that  literally  breathed  defiance. 


CHAPTER  XXV I  r. 

"You  infernal  scoundrel!"  roared 
Vizard,  and  took  a  stride  toward  Sev- 
erne. 

"No  violence,"  said  Ina  Klo.'^king, 
sternly:  "it  will  be  an  insult  to  this 
lady  and  me," 


"  Very  well,  then,"  said  Vizard, 
grimly,  "I  must  wait  till  I  catch  him 
alone." 

"IMeantime,  permit  me  to  speak, 
sir,"  said  Ina.  "Believe  me,  I  have 
a  better  right  than  even  you." 

"  Tiien  pray  ask  my  sister  why  I 
find  her  on  that  villain's  arm." 

"I  should  not  answer  her,"  said 
Zoe,  hauglitily.  "But  my  brother  [ 
will.  Harrington,  all  this  vulgar  abuse 
confirms  me  in  my  choice :  1  take  his 
ami  because  I  hrtve  accepted  his  baud. 
I  am  going  into  Bagley  with  him  to 
become  his  wife." 

This  announcement  took  away  Viz- 
ard's breath  for  a  moment,  and  Ina 
Klosking  put  in  her  word.  "  You 
can  not  do  that :  pray  be  warned.  He 
is  leading  you  to  infamy." 

"Infamy!  AVliat,  because  he  can 
not  give  me  a  suit  of  sables?  Infa- 
my! because  we  prefer  virtuous  pov- 
erty to  vice  and  wealth  ?" 

"No,  young  lady,"  said  Ina,  color- 
ing faintly  at  the  taunt;  "but  be- 
cause you  could  only  be  his  para- 
mour ;  not  his  wife.  He  is  married 
already." 

At  these  words,  spoken  with  that 
power  Ina  Klosking  could  always  com- 
mand, Zoe  Vizard  turned  ashy  pale. 
But  she  fought  on  braveiv.  "Mar- 
ried ?     It  is  false !     To  whom  ?" 

"Tome." 

"  I  tlioupht  so.  Now  I  know  it  is 
not  true.  He  left  you  months  before 
we  ever  knew  him." 

"Look  at  liim.  He  does  not  say 
it  is  false." 

Zoe  turned  on  Severne,  and  at  his 
face  her  own  heart  quaked.  "Are 
you  married  to  tliis  lady  ?"  she  asked  ; 
and  her  eyes,  dilated  to  their  full  size, 
searched  liis  every  feature. 

"  Not  that  I  know  of,"  said  he,  im- 
pudently. 

"  Is  that  the  serious  answer  you  ex- 
pected. Miss  Vizard?"  said  Ina,  keen- 
ly :  then  to  Severne,  "You  are  un- 
wise to  insult  tiic  woman  on  whom, 
from  this  day,  you  must  depend  for 
bread.     Miss  Vizard,  to  you  I  speak, 


L'LM 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


iiud  not  to  this  sliaineless  man.  For 
your  raothci's  sake,  do  me  justice.  I 
have  loved  him  dearly  ;  l)ut  now  I  ab- 
hor him.  Would  1  could  bicak  the 
tie  that  binds  ns,  and  give  him  to  you, 
or  to  any  lady  wlio  would  have  him! 
]5ut  I  can  not.  And  sliall  1  hold  my 
tongue,  and  let  you  be  ruined  and 
dishonored  ?  I  am  an  older  woman 
than  you,  and  bound  by  gratitude  to 
all  your  house.  Dear  lady,  I  have 
taxed  ni}'  strength  to  save  you.  I  feel 
that  strength  waning."  I'ray  read  tiiis 
paper,  and  consent  to  save  j/uursel/." 

"1  will  read  it,"'  said  Khoda  Gale, 
interfering.  "I  know  German.  It 
is  an  autliorized  duplicate  certifying 
the  marriage  of  Edward  Severne,  of 
Willingham,  in  Huntingdonshire,  En- 
gland, to  Ina  Ferris,  daughter  of  Wal- 
ter Ferris  and  Eva  Klosking,  of  Zut- 
zig,  in  Denmark.  The  marriage  was 
solemnized  at  Berlin,  and  here  are  the 
signatures  of  several  witnesses :  Eva 
Khjsking;  Fi'aulein  Graafe;  Ztig, 
the  Capellmeis.er;  Vicomte  I\[eurice, 
French  attache ;  Count  Hompesch, 
Bavarian  plenipotentiary  ;  Ilerr  For- 
mes." 

Ina  explained,  in  a  voice  that  was 
now  feeble,  "I  was  a  public  charac- 
ter; my  marriage  was  public:  not 
like  tiie  clandestine  union  wliicii  is  all 
he  dared  otl'er  to  this  well-born  lady." 

"  The  Bavarian  and  French  minis- 
ters are  both  in  London,"  said  Vizard, 
eagerly.  "  We  can  easily  learn  if 
these  signatures  are  forged,  like  j/our 
acceptances." 

But,  if  otie  shadow  of  doubt  remain- 
ed, Severne  now  removed  it ;  he  ut- 
tered a  scream  of  agony,  and  fled  as 
if  the  demons  of  remorse  and  desjjair 
were  spurring  him  with  red-hot  rowels. 

"Tlierc,  you  little  idiot!"  roared 
Vizard  ;  "does  that  open  your  eyes ?" 

'"Oh,  j\lr.  Vizard,"  said  Ina,  re- 
proachfully, "for  jiity's  sake,  think 
only  of  her  youth,  and  what  she  has 
to  suffer.  I  can  ilo  no  more  for  her : 
1  feel — so — faint." 

Ashmead  and  Rhoda  supported  her 
into  the  carriage.      Vizard,  touched 


to  the  heart  by  Ina's  appeal,  held  out 
his  eloquent  arms  to  his  stricken  sis- 
ter, and  siie  tottered  to  him,  and  climg 
to  him,  all  limj)  and  broken,  and  wish- 
ing siie  could  siidc  out  of  the  sight  of 
all  mankind,  lie  put  his  strong  arm 
round  her,  and,  though  his  own  heart 
was  desolate  and  broken,  he  support- 
ed that  broken  flower  of  womanhood, 
and  half  led,  half  lifted  her  on,  until 
he  laid  her  on  a  sofa  in  Somerville 
Villa.  Then,  for  the  first  time,  he 
spoke  to  her.  "Wc  are  both  deso- 
late, now,  my  child.  Let  us  love  one 
another.  I  will  be  ten  times  tenderer 
to  you  than  I  ever  have  been."  She 
gave  a  great  sob,  but  she  was  i)ast 
sjjeaking. 

Ina  Klosking,  Miss  Gale,  and  Ash- 
mead returned  in  the  carriage  to  Bag- 
ley.  Half  a  mile  out  of  the  town  they 
found  a  man  lying  on  the  pathway, 
with  his  hat  ofi',  and  white  as  a  sheet. 
It  was  I'jdward  Severne.  He  had  run 
till  he  dropjicd. 

Ashmead  got  down  and  examined 
him. 

He  came  back  to  the  carnage  door, 
looking  while  enough  himself.  "It 
is  all  over,"  said  he;  "the  man  is 
dead." 

Miss  Gale  was  out  in  a  moment 
and  examined  him.  "No,"  said  she. 
"The  heart  does  not  beat  percepti- 
bly ;  but  he  breathes.  It  is  another 
of  tiiose  seizm-es.  Help  me  get  him 
into  the  carriage." 

This  was  done,  and  the  driver  or- 
dered to  go  a  foot's  pace. 

Tiie  stimulants  ftliss  Gale  had 
brought  for  Ina  Klosking  were  now 
ap))lied  to  revive  this  malefactor;  and 
botli  ladies  actually  ministered  to  him 
with  compassionate  faces.  He  was 
a  villain  ;  but  he  was  superlatively 
handsome,  and  a  feather  might  turn 
the  scale  of  life  or  death. 

The  seizure,  though  really  appalling 
to  look  at,  did  not  last  long.  He  re- 
vived a  little  in  the  carriage,  and  was 
taken,  still  insensible,  but  breathing 
hard,  into  a  room  in  the  railway  ho- 


A  WOMAN-IIATEK. 


225 


tel.  "Wlien  lie  was  out  of  danger, 
Miss  Gale  felt  Ina  Klosking's  pulse, 
and  insisted  on  her  going  to  Tad- 
dington  by  the  next  train,  and  leav- 
ing Severne  to  the  care  of  Mr.  Ash- 
mead. 

Ina,  who,  in  truth,  was  just  then 
most  unfit  for  any  more  trials,  feebly 
consented,  but  not  until  she  had  given 
Ashmead  some  important  instructions 
respecting  her  malefactor,  and  suj)- 
]ilied  him  with  funds.  Miss  Gale  also 
instructed  Ashmead  how  to  proceed 
in  case  of  a  rehiiise,  and  provided  him 
with  materials. 

The  ladies  took  a  train,  which  ar- 
rived soon  after;  and,  being  so  fortu- 
nate as  to  get  a  lady's  carriage  all  to 
themselves,  they  sat  intertwined  and 
rocking  together,  and  Ina  Klosking 
found  relief  at  last  in  a  copious  flow 
of  tears. 

Rhoda  got  her  to  Ilillstoke,  cooked 
for  her,  nursed  her,  lighted  fires,  aired 
her  bed,  and  these  two  fiiends  slept 
together  in  each  other's  arms. 

Ashmead  had  a  hard  time  of  it  with 
SeverTie.  He  managed  pretty  well 
with  him  at  first,  because  he  stupefied 
him  with  brandy  before  he  had  come 
to  his  senses,  and  in  that  state  got  him 
into  the  next  train.  But  as  the  fumes 
wore  off,  and  Severne  realized  his  vil- 
lainy, his  defeat,  and  his  alijcct  con- 
dition between  the  two  women  he  had 
wronged,  lie  suddenly  uttered  a  yell, 
and  made  a  s])iiiig  at  the  window. 
Ashmead  caught  him  by  his  calves, 
and  dragged  him  so  powerfully  down, 
that  his  face  struck  tiie  flour  hard  and 
his  nose  bled  j)rofusely.  The  hem- 
orrhage and  the  blow  quieted  him 
for  a  time,  and  tiicn  Ashmead  gave 
liim  more  brandy,  and  got  him  to  the 
"  Swan"  in  a  half-lethargic  lull.  This 
faithfid  agent,  and  man  of  all  work, 
took  a  juivate  sitting-room  with  a 
double-beddeil  room  adjoiuiug  it,  and 
ordered  a  hot  supi)er  with  C"liami)agi\e 
and  Madeira. 

JSeverne  lay  on  a  sofa  moaning. 

The  waiter   stared.       '"J'louble!" 
whispered    Ashmead,    confidcntiallv. 
10* 


"Take  no  notice.     Supper  as  quick 
as  possible." 

By-aud-by  Severne  started  u]i,  and 
began  to  rave  and  tear  about  tiie  room, 
cursing  his  hard  fate,  and  ended  in  a 
kind  of  hysterical  fit.  Ashmead,  be- 
ing provided  by  Miss  Gale  with  salts 
and  aromatic  vinegar,  etc.,  applied 
them,  and  ended  by  dashing  a  tum- 
bler of  water  right  into  his  face, 
which  did  him  more  good  than  cliem- 
istry. 

Then  he  tried  to  awaken  manhood 
in  the  fellow.  "  What  are  you  howl- 
ing about?"  said  he.  "Why,  you 
are  the  only  sinner,  and  you  are  the 
least  siifierer.  CJome,  droj)  sniveling, 
and  eat  a  bit.  Trouble  don't  do  on 
an  empty  stomach." 

ISeverne  said  he  would  try,  but  beg- 
ged the  waiter  might  not  be  allowed 
to  stare  at  a  broken-hearted  man. 

"Broken  fiddlestick!"  said  honest 
Joe. 

Severne  tried  to  eat,  but  could  not. 
But  he  coidd  drink,  and  said  so. 

Ashmead  gave  him  Champagne  in 
tumblers,  and  that,  on  his  empty  stom- 
acii,  set  him  raving,  and  saying  life 
was  hell  to  him  now.  But  presently 
he  fell  to  weeping  bitterly.  In  which 
condition  Ashmead  forced  him  to  bed, 
and  there  he  slept  heavily.  In  the 
morning  Ashmead  sat  by  his  bedside, 
and  tried  to  bring  him  to  reason. 
"  Xow,  look  here,"  said  he,  "you  are 
a  lucky  fellow,  if  you  will  only  see  it. 
You  have  escaped  bigamy  and  a  jail, 
and,  as  a  reward  for  yom*  good  con- 
duct to  your  wife,  and  the  many  vir- 
tues you  have  exhibited  in  a  short 
space  of  time,  I  am  instructed  by  tliat 
lady  to  pay  yon  twenty  ]>ounds  every 
Satm'day  at  twelve  o'clock.  It  is  only 
a  thousand  a  year;  but  don't  you  be 
down-hearted;  I  conclude  she  will 
raise  your  salary  as  you  advance. 
You  must  forge  her  name  to  a  heavy 
check,  rob  a  church,  and  abduct  a 
school -girl  or  two  —  misses  in  their 
teens  and  wards  of  Chancery  prefer- 
red— ami  she  will  make  it  thirty,  no 
doubt ;"  and  Joe  looked  very  sotn". 


226 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


"Tliat  for  licr  twenty  pounds  a 
week  1"  cried  this  injured  man.  "  She 
owes  me  two  thousand  pounds  and 
more.  She  has  been  my  enemy,  and 
her  own.  The  fool!  —  to  go  and 
peach !  Slie  had  only  to  hold  her 
tongue,  and  be  i\Irs.  \'i/,ard,  and  then 
she  would  have  had  a  rich  husband 
that  adores  her,  and  I  should  liave 
had  ray  darling  beautiful  Zoe,  the 
only  woman  1  ever  loved  or  ever 
shall." 

"Oh,"  said  Ashmead,  "  tlien  yon 
expected  your  wife  to  commit  biga- 
my, and  so  make  it  smooth  to  you." 

*'^  Of  course  I  did,"  was  the  worthy 
Severne's  rejjly  ;  "and  so  she  would, 
if  she  had  had  a  grain  of  sense.  See 
what  a  contrast  now.  We  are  all  un- 
happy— herself  included — and  it  is  all 
her  doing." 

"Well,  young  man,"  said  Ash- 
mead, drawing  a  long  breath  ;  "  didn't 
I  tell  you,  you  are  a  lucky  fellow  ? 
You  have  got  twenty  pounds  a  week, 
and  that  blest  boon, '  a  conscience  void 
of  oftense.'  Yon  are  a  hajipy  man. 
Here's  a  strong  cup  of  tea  for  yon: 
just  you  drink  it,  and  then  get  up 
and  take  the  train  to  the  little  village. 
There  kindred  spirits  and  fresh  de- 
lights await  von.  You  aie  not  to 
adorn  Earfordsliire  any  hniger :  tiuit 
is  the  order." 

"  Well,  I'll  go  to  London— but  not 
without  yon." 

' '  Me  f    What  do  yon  want  of  me  ?" 

"You  are  a  good  fellow,  and  the 
only  friend  I  have  left.  But  for  you, 
I  should  be  dead,  or  mad.  You  have 
pulled  me  tlirough." 

"  Through  the  window  I  did.  Lord, 
forgive  me  for  it,"  said  Joseph. 
"Well,  I'll  go  np  to  town  with  you; 
but  I  can't  be  always  tied  to  your  tail. 
I  haven't  got  twenty  pounds  a  week. 
To  be  sure,"  he  added,  dryly,  "I 
haven't  earned  it.  That  is  one  com- 
fort." 

He  telegraphed  Ilillstoke,  and  took 
Severne  u])  to  London. 

There  the  Bohemian  very  soon 
found  he  could  live,  and  even  derive 


some  little  enjoyment  fiom  his  vices 
— without  Joseph  Ashmead.  He  vis- 
ited him  punctually  every  Saturday, 
and  conversed  delightfully.  If  he 
came  any  other  day,  it  was  sure  to  be 
for  an  advance :   he  never  got  it. 


CHAPTER   XXVni. 

Fannv  Ddvku  was  sent  for  direct- 
ly to  Somerviile  Villa  ;  and, three  days 
after  the  distressing  scene  I  have  en- 
deavored to  describe.  Vizard  brought 
his  wrecked  sister  home.  Her  con- 
dition was  pitiable;  and  the  moment 
be  reached  Vizard  Court  lie  mount- 
ed bis  horse  and  rode  to  Hillstoke  to 
bring  Miss  Gale  down  to  her. 

Tiiere  be  found  Ina  Klosking,  with 
her  boxes  at  the  door,  waiting  for  the 
fly  that  was  to  take  her  away. 

It  was  a  sad  interview.  He  thank- 
ed her  deejily  for  her  noble  conduct  to 
his  sister,  and  then  he  could  not  help 
speaking  of  his  own  disa])pointment. 

Mademoiselle  Klosking,  on  this  oc- 
casion, was  simi)le,  sad,  and  even  ten- 
der, within  ])rudent  limits.  She  treat- 
ed this  as  a  jiarting  forever,  and  there- 
fore made  no  secret  of  her  esteem  for 
him.  "But,"  said  she,  "I  hope  one 
(lay  to  hear  you  have  found  a  partner 
worthy  of  you.  As  for  me,  who  am 
tied  for  life  to  one  I  des])ise,  and  can 
never  love  again,  I  shall  seek  my  con- 
solation in  music,  and,  please  God,  in 
charitalile  actions." 

He  kissed  her  hand  at  parting,  and 
gave  her  a  long,  long  look  of  miser- 
able regret  that  tried  her  composure 
hard,  and  often  recurred  to  her  mem- 
ory. 

She  wont  np  to  London,  took  a 
small  suburban  house,  led  a  secluded 
life,  and  devoted  herself  to  her  art, 
making  a  particular  stud\'  now  of  sa- 
cred music ;  she  collected  volumes  of 
it,  and  did  not  disdain  to  buy  it  at 
book  -  stalls,  or  wherever  she  could 
find  it. 

Ashmead  worked  for  her,  and  she 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


227 


made  her  first  appearance  in  a  new 
oratorio.  Her  songs  proved  a  prin- 
cipal feature  in  the  performance. 

Events  did  not  stand  still  in  Bar- 
fordshire;  but  they  were  tame,  com- 
pared with  those  I  have  lately  related, 
and  must  be  dispatched  in  fewer  words. 

Aunt  Maitland  recovered  unexpect- 
edly from  a  severe  ilhiess,  and  was 
a  softened  woman :  she  sent  Fanny 
off  to  keep  Zoe  company.  That  poor 
girl  had  a  bitter  time,  and  gave  Doc- 
tress  Gale  great  anxiety.  Slie  had 
no  brain-fever,  but  seemed  quietly,  in- 
sensibly, sinking  into  her  grave.  No 
appetite,  and  indeed  was  threatened 
with  atrophy  at  one  time.  But  she 
was  so  surrounded  with  loving-kind- 
ness that  her  shame  diminished,  her 
pride  rose,  and  at  last  her  agony  was 
blunted,  and  only  a  pensive  languor 
remained  to  show  that  slie  had  been 
crushed,  and  could  not  be  again  tlie 
bright,  proud,  high-spirited  beauty  of 
Barfordshire. 

For  many  months  she  never  men- 
tioned either  Edward  Severne,  Ina 
Klosking,  or  Lord  Exmoor. 

It  was  a  long  time  before  she  went 
outside  the  gates  of*  her  own  park. 
!She  seemed  to  hate  the  outer  world. 

Her  first  visit  was  to  ISIiss  Gale ; 
tliat  young  lady  was  now  very  liappy. 
She  had  her  mother  with  her.  Mrs. 
Gale  iiad  defeated  tlie  tricky  executor, 
and  iiad  come  to  England  witii  a  tidy 
little  capital,  saved  out  of  the  fire  by 
her  sagacity  and  sjjirit. 

Mrs.  Gale's  character  lias  been  part- 
ly revealed  by  her  daughter.  I  have 
only  to  add  she  was  a  homely,  well- 
read  woman,  of  few  words,  but  tliose 
few — grape-shot.  Exam])le — slie  said 
to  Zoe,  "Young  lady,  excuse  an  old 
woman's  freedom,  wiio  might  bo  your 
motiier:  the  troubles  of  young  folk 
liave  a  deal  of  self  in  them  ;  more 
than  you  could  believe.  Now  just  you 
try  something  to  take  you  out  of  self, 
and  you  will  be  another  creature." 

"Ah,"  sighed  Zoo,  "would  to 
Heaven  I  could !" 


"Oh,"  said  Mrs.  Gale,  "any  body 
witli  money  can  do  it,  and  the  world 
so  full  of  real  trouble.  Now,  my  girl 
tells  me  you  are  kind  to  the  poor : 
why  not  do  something  like  Rhoda  is 
doing  for  this  lord  she  is  overseer,  or 
goodness  knows  what,  to?" 

Rhoda  (defiantly), "  Viceroy." 

"  You  have  money,  and  your  broth- 
er will  not  refuse  you  a  bit  o'  land. 
Why  not  build  some  of  these  new- 
fangled cottages,  with  fancy  gardens, 
and  dwarf  palaces  for  a  cow  and  a 
pig?  Rhoda,  child,  if  1  was  a  poor 
woman,  I  could  graze  a  cow  in  the 
lanes  hereabouts,  and  feed  a  pig  in 
the  woods.  Now  you  do  that  for  the 
poor.  Miss  Vizard,  and  don't  let  my 
girl  think  for  you.  Breed  your  own 
ideas.  That  will  divert  you  from  self, 
my  dear,  and  you  will  begin  to  find  it 
— there — ^just  as  if  a  black  cloud  was 
clearing  away  from  your  mind,  and 
letting  your  heart  warm  again." 

Zoe  caught  at  the  idea,  and  that 
very  day  asked  Vizard  timidly  wheth- 
er he  would  let  her  have  some  land 
to  build  a  model  cottage  or  two  on. 

Will  it  be  believed  that  the  good- 
natured  Vizard  made  a  wry  face? 
"What,  two  proprietors  in  Islip!" 
For  a  moment  or  two  he  was  all 
squire.  But  soon  the  brother  con- 
quered. "Well,"  said  he,  "I  can't 
give  you  a  fee-simple ;  I  must  think 
of  my  heirs :  but  I  will  hold  a  court, 
and  grant  you  a  coiiy-hold;  or  I'll 
give  you  a  ninety-nine  years'  lease  at 
a  j)epper-corn.  There's  a  slip  of  three 
acres  on  the  edge  of  the  Green.  You 
shall  amuse  yourself  with  that."  He 
made  it  over  to  her  directly,  for  a  cent- 
ury, at  ten  shillings  a  year ;  and,  as 
he  was  her  surviving  trustee,  he  let 
her  draw  in  advance  on  her  ten  thou- 
sand pounds. 

Majiping  out  the  ground  with  Rho- 
da, settling  the  gardens  and  the  min- 
iature pastiu'cs,  and  (ilanning  the  little 
houses  and  outhouses,  and  talking  a 
groat  deal,  comi>ared  with  what  she 
transacted,  jiroved  really  a  certain  an- 
tidote to  that  lethargy  of  woe  which 


228 


A  WOMAN-IIATEIJ. 


oppressed  her:  and  liere,  for  a  time, 
I  must  leave  her,  returning  slowly  to 
health  of  l)od_v,  and  some  tranquillity 
of  mind ;  hut  still  subject  to  fits  of 
shame,  and  gnawed  by  bitter  regrets. 


ClIArTER  XXIX. 

The  reputation  Mademoiselle  KIos- 
king  gained  in  the  new  oratorio,  aided 
\>y  Ashmead's  exertions,  launched  her 
in  a.  walk  of  art  that  accorded  with 
iier  sentiments. 

She  sung  in  the  oratorio  whenever 
it  coidd  be  performed,  and  also  sung 
select  songs  from  it,  and  other  sacred 
songs  at  concerts. 

She  was  engaged  at  a  musical  festi- 
val in  the  very  cathedral  town  whose 
choir  had  been  so  consoling  to  her. 
She  entered  with  great  zeal  into  this 
engagement,  and  finding  there  was  a 
general  desire  to  introduce  the  lead- 
ing chorister-hoy  to  the  public  in  a 
iluet,  she  surprised  them  all  by  otter- 
ing to  sing  the  second  part  with  him, 
if  he  would  rehearse  it  carefully  with 
her  at  her  lodgings.  He  was  only 
too  glad,  as  might  i)e  supposed.  She 
found  he  had  a  lovely  voice,  but  little 
physical  culture.  He  read  correctly, 
but  did  not  even  know  the  nature  of 
the  vocal  instrument  and  its  construc- 
tion, which  is  that  of  a  bagpipe.  She 
taught  him  how  to  keep  his  lungs  full 
in  singing,  yet  not  to  gasp,  and  by 
this  simple  means  enabled  him  to 
sing  with  more  than  twice  tiie  ])Ower 
he  liad  ever  exercised  yet.  She  also 
taught  him  the  swell,  a  figure  of  mu- 
sic he  knew  literally  nothing  about. 

When,  after  singing  a  great  solo, 
to  salvos  of  applause,  Mademoiselle 
Klosking  took  the  second  jiart  with 
tliis  urchin,  the  citizens  and  ail  the 
musical  people  who  haunt  a  cathedral 
were  on  the  tiptoe  of  expectation. 
The  boy  amazed  them,  and  the  rich 
contralto  that  supported  him  and  rose 
and  swelled  with  hire  in  ravishing  har- 
mony enchanted  them.     The  vast  ini- 


))rovement  in  the  boy's  style  did  not 
escape  the  hundreds  of  jiersons  who 
knew  him,  and  this  duet  gave  La  Klos- 
king a  great  personal  popularity. 

Her  Inst  song,  by  her  own  choice, 
was,  "What  though  I  trace"  (Han- 
del), and  the  majestic  volume  that 
rang  through  the  echoing  vault  show- 
ed with  what  a  generous  spirit  she 
had  subdued  that  magnificent  organ 
not  to  crusii  her  juvenile  partner  in 
the  preceding  duet. 

Among  tiie  persons  present  was 
Harrington  Vizard.  He  had  come 
there  against  his  judgment ;  but  he 
could  not  help  it. 

He  had  been  cultivating  a  dull  tran- 
quillity, and  was  even  beginning  his 
old  game  of  railing  on  women,  as  the 
great  disturbers  of  male  jieace.  At 
the  sight  of  her,  and  the  sound  of  her 
first  notes,  awaj'  went  his  tranquillity, 
and  he  loved  her  as  ardently  as  ever. 
But  when  she  sung  his  motlier's  favor- 
ite, and  the  very  roof  rang,  and  three 
thousand  souls  were  thrilled  and  lift- 
ed to  heaven  by  that  pure  and  noble 
strain,  the  rapture  could  not  jiass  away 
from  this  one  heart;  while  the  ear 
ached  at  the  cessation  of  her  voice, 
tlie  heart  also  ached,  and  pined,  and 
yearned. 

He  ceased  to  resist.  From  that  d.iy 
he  followed  her  about  to  her  public 
])erformances  all  over  the  Slidland 
Comities ;  and  she  soon  became  aware 
of  iiis  presence.  She  said  nothing  till 
Aslimead  drew  her  attention  ;  then, 
being  com])elled  to  notice  it,  slie  said 
it  was  a  gieat  pity.  Surely  he  must 
have  more  important  duties  at  home. 

Aslimead  wanted  to  recognize  him, 
and  put  him  into  the  best  place  va- 
cant ;  but  IjA  Kloskiijg  said,  "No.  I 
will  be  more  his  friend  than  to  lend 
him  the  least  encouragement." 

A;  the  end  of  that  tour  she  return- 
ed to  London. 

While  she  was  there  in  her  little 
suburban  house,  she  received  a  visit 
from  JNIr.  ICdward  Severne.  He  came 
to  throw  himself  at  her  feet,  and  beg 
foigivcness.     She  said  she  would  try 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


229 


and  forgive  him.  lie  tlieu  implored 
her  to  forget  the  jiast.  She  told  him 
that  was  beyond  her  power.  He  per- 
sisted, and  told  her  he  had  come  to 
his  senses ;  all  his  misconduct  now 
seemed  a  hideous  dream,  and  he  found 
he  had  never  really  loved  any  one  but 
her.  So  then  he  entreated  her  to  try 
liim  once  more;  to  give  him  back  the 
treasure  of  her  love. 

She  listened  to  him  like  a  woman 
(if  marble.  "  Love  where  I  despise !" 
said  she.  "Never.  The  day  has  gone 
by  when  these  words  can  move  me. 
Come  to  me  for  the  means  of  enjoy- 
ing yourself — gambling,  drinking, 
and  your  other  vices — anil  I  shall  in- 
dulge you.  But  do  not  profane  the 
name  of  love.  I  forbid  yon  ever  to 
enter  my  door  on  that  errand.  I  pre- 
sume you  want  money.  There  is  a 
hundred  pounds.  Take  it :  and  keep 
out  of  my  sigiit  till  vou  have  wasted 
it." 

He  dashed  the  notes  proudly  down. 
She  turned  her  back  on  liim,  and 
glided  into  another  room. 

When  she  returned,  he  was  gone, 
and  the  hundred  pounds  had  managed 
to  accompany  him. 

He  went  straight  from  her  to  Ash- 
mead,  and  talked  big.  He  would  sue 
for  restitution  of  conjugal  rights. 

"Don't  do  that,  for  my  sake,"  said 
Ashmead.  "She  will  fly  tlie  country 
like  a  bird,  and  live  in  some  village 
on  broad  and  milk." 

"Oh,  I  would  not  do  you  an  ill  turn 
for  the  world,"  .said  the  ^Iastcr  of  Arts. 
"You  have  been  a  kind  friend  to  me. 
You  saved  my  life.  It  is  imbittered 
by  remorse,  and  recollections  of  tiie 
happiness  I  have  thrown  away,  and  the 
hcait  1  have  wronged.     No  matter!  ' 

This  visit  disturbed  La  Klosking, 
and  dis])osed  her  to  leave  Ijondon. 
She  listened  to  a  brilliant  offer  that 
was  made  her.  through  Ashmead,  by 
the  manager  of  the  Italian  Opera,  who 
was  organizing  a  provincial  tour.  The 
tour  was  well  advertised  in  advance, 
and  the  company  opened  to  a  grand 
house  at  Birtniufrliam. 


I  Mademoiselle  Klosking  had  not 
j  been  long  on  the  stage  when  she  dis- 
covered her  discarded  husband  in  the 
stalls,  looking  the  perfection  of  youth- 
ful beauty.  The  next  minute  she  saw 
Vizard  in  a  private  box.  Mr.  Severne 
applauded  her  loudl}',  and  fltnig  her  a 
bouquet.  I\Ir.  Vizard  fixed  his  eyes 
on  her,  beaming  with  admiration,  but 
made  no  public  demonstration. 

The  same  incident  repeated  itself 
every  night  she  sung,  and  at  every 
town. 

At  last  she  spoke  about  it  to  Ash- 
mead, in  the  vague,  suggestive  way 
her  sex  excels  in.  "I  presume  you 
have  observed  the  people  in  front." 

"Yes,  madam.  Two  in  particu- 
lar." 

"Conld  vou  not  advise  him  to  de- 
sist ?" 

"Which  of 'em,  madam?" 

"  ]Mr.  Vizard,  of  course.  He  is 
losing  his  time,  and  wasting  senti- 
ments it  is  cruel  should  be  wasted." 

Ashmead  said  he  dared  not  take 
any  liberty  with  INIr.  Vizard. 

So  the  thing  went  on. 

Severne  made  acquaintance  with 
the  manager,  and  obtained  the  entree 
behind  the  scenes.  He  brought  his 
wife  a  bouquet  every  night,  and  pre- 
sented it  to  her  with  such  reverence 
and  grace,  that  she  was  obliged  to 
take  it  and  courtesy,  or  seem  rude  to 
the  peo])le  about. 

Tiien  she  wrote  to  Miss  Gale,  and 
begged  her  to  come  if  she  could. 

Miss  Gale,  who  had  all  this  time 
been  writing  her  love-letters  twice 
a  week,  itnmediately  ajjpointed  her 
motiier  viceroy,  and  went  to  her 
friend.  Ina  Klosking  explainctl  tlie 
situation  to  her  wiili  a  certain  slight 
timidity  and  confusion  not  usual  to 
her;  and  said,  "Now,  dear,  you  have 
more  courage  than  the  rest  of  us ; 
and  I  know  he  has  a  great  resj)ect 
for  you  ;  and,  indeed,  Miss  Dover  told 
me  he  would  quite  obey  you.  Would 
it  not  be  the  act  of  a  friend  to  advise 
him  to  cease  this  unhappy —  AVliat 
good  can  come  of  it?     He  neglects 


230 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


his  own  duties,  ami  disturbs  me  in 
mine.  I  sometimes  ask  myself  would 
it  not  be  kinder  of  me  to  give  ii])  my 
business,  or  practico  it  elsewhere — 
Germany,  or  even  Italy." 

"Does  he  call  on  vou?" 

"No." 

"Does  he  write  to  you ?" 

"Oh  no.  I  wish  he  would.  Be- 
cause then  I  should  be  able  to  reply 
like  a  true  friend,  and  send  him  away. 
Consider,  dear,  it  is  not  like  a  nobody 
dangling  after  a  public  siuger;  that 
is  common  enough.  We  are  all  run 
after  by  idle  men ;  even  Hignorina 
Zubetta,  who  has  not  much  voice,  nor 
appearance,  and  speaks  a  Genoese 
patois  when  she  is  not  delivering  a 
libretto.  But  for  a  gentleman  of  ])o- 
sition,  with  a  heart  of  gold  and  the 
soul  of  an  emperor,  that  he  should 
waste  his  time  and  his  feelings  so,  on 
a  woman  who  can  never  be  anything 
t(j  iiim,  it  is  pitiable." 

'■  Well,  but,  after  all,  it  is  his  busi- 
ness ;  and  he  is  not  a  child  :  besides, 
remember  he  is  really  very  fond  of 
music.  If  I  were  yon,  I'd  look  an- 
other way,  and  take  no  notice." 

"Bull  can  not." 

"Ah  !     And  why  no,  pray?" 

"  Because  he  always  takes  a  box  on 
my  left  hand,  two  from  the  stage.  I 
can't  think  how  lie  gets  it  at  all  the 
theatres.  And  then  he  fixes  his  eyes 
on  me  so,  I  can  not  help  stealing  a 
look.  He  never  a])])lauds,  nor  throws 
me  bouquets.  He  looks  ;  oh,  you  can 
not  conceive  how  he  looks,  and  the 
strange  effect  it  is  beginning  to  pro- 
duce on  me." 

"  He  inesmerizes  you?" 

"1  know  not.  But  it  is  a  growing 
fascination.  Oh,  my  dear  jihysician, 
interfere.  If  it  goes  on,  we  shall  be 
more  wretched  than  ever."  Then  she 
enveloped  Rhoda  in  her  arms,  and 
rested  a  hot  cheek  against^hers. 

"I  see,"  said  Rhoda.  "You  are 
afraid  he  will  make  you  love  him." 

"  I  hope  not.  But  artists  are  im- 
pressionable ;  and  being  looked  at  so, 
by  one  I  esteem,  niglit  after  night 


when  my  nerves  are  strung  —  cela 
in'agace;"  and  she  gave  a  shiver,  and 
then  was  a  little  hysterical;  and  that 
was  very  unlike  her. 

lihoda  kissed  her,  and  said  reso- 
lutely she  would  stop  it. 

"Notnnkindlv?" 

"Oh  no." 

"You  will  not  fell  him  it  is  offen- 
sive to  me?" 

"No." 

"Pray  do  not  give  him  unnecessary 
pain." 

"No." 

"  Me  is  not  to  be  mortified." 

"No." 

"  I  shall  miss  him  sadly." 

"Shall  you?" 

"  Naturally.  Especially  at  each 
new  place.  Only  conceive :  one  is  al- 
ways anxious  on  the  stage ;  and  it  is 
one  thing  to  come  before  a  public  all 
strangers,  and  nearly  all  poor  judges  ; 
it  is  another  to  see,  all  ready  for  your 
first  note,  a  noble  face  bright  with  in- 
telligence and  admiration — the  face 
of  a  friend.  Often  that  one  face  is 
the  only  one  I  allow  myself  to  see. 
It  hides  the  whole  public." 

"Then  don't  you  be  silly  and  send 
it  away.  I'll  tell  you  the  one  fault  of 
your  character :  you  think  too  much 
of  other  people,  and  too  little  of  your- 
self. Now,  that  is  contrary  to  the 
scheme  of  nature.  We  are  sent  into 
the  world  to  take  care  of  number  one." 

"  What!"  said  Iiia;"are  we  to 
be  all  self-indulgence?  Is  there  to  be 
no  principle,  no  womanly  prudence, 
foresight,  discretion  ?  No ;  1  feel  the 
sacrifice:  but  no  power  shall  hinder 
me  from  making  it.  If  you  can  not 
persuade  him,  I'll  do  like  other  sing- 
ers. I  will  be  ill,  ami  quit  the  coin- 
pan  v." 

"Don't  do  that,"  said  Rhoda. 
"Now  you  have  put  on  your  iron 
look,  it  is  no  use  arguing — I  know 
that  to  my  cost.  There — I  will  talk 
to  him.  Only  don't  hurry  me;  let 
me  take  my  oi)portuiiity." 

This  being  understood,  Ina  would 
not  part  with  her  for  the  present,  but 


A  WOMAN-HATER 


001 


took  her  to  the  theatre.  She  dismiss- 
ed her  dresser,  at  llhoda's  request, 
and  Rhoda  filled  that  office.  !So  tliey 
could  talk  freely. 

Rhoda  had  never  been  behind  the 
scenes  of  a  theatre  before,  and  she 
went  prying  about,  ignoring  the  mu- 
sic, for  she  was  almost  earless.  Pres- 
ently, whom  should  she  encounter  but 
Edward  Severne.  She  started,  and 
looked  at  him  like  a  basilisk.  He  re- 
moved his  hat,  and  drew  back  a  step 
with  a  great  air  of  respect  and  lumiil- 
ity.  She  was  shocked  and  indignant 
with  Ina  for  letting  him  be  about  her. 
She  followed  her  off  the  stage  into  her 
dressing-room,  and  took  her  to  task. 
"I  have  seen  Mr.  Severne  here." 

"lie  comes  every  night." 

"And  you  allow  him  ?" 

"It  is  the  manager."' 

"But  he  would  not  admit  him,  if 
you  objected." 

"  I  am  afraid  to  do  that." 

"Why?" 

"We  should  have  an  eschmdre.  I 
find  he  has  had  so  much  consideration 
for  me  as  to  tell  no  one  our  relation ; 
and  as  he  has  never  spoken  to  me,  I 
do  the  most  prudent  thing  I  can,  and 
take  no  notice.  Should  he  attempt 
to  intrude  himself  on  me,  then  it  will 
be  time  to  have  him  stopped  in  the 
liidl,  and  I  shall  do  it  coute  que  route. 
Ah,  my  dear  friend,  mine  is  a  dillicult 
and  trying  position." 

After  a  very  long  wait,  Ina  went 
down  and  sung  her  ]iriiicii)al  song, 
with  the  usual  bravas  and  thunders  of 
applause.  She  was  called  on  twice, 
and  as  she  retired,  Severne  stejiped 
forward,  and,  with  a  low,  obsequious 
bow,  handed  her  a  beautiful  bou<iuet. 
Slie  took  it  with  a  stately  courtesy, 
but  never  looked  nor  smiled.  Khoda 
saw  that  and  wondered.  She  thought 
to  herself,  "That  is  carrying  polite- 
ness a  long  way.  To  be  sure,  she  is 
half  a  foreigner." 

Having  done  his  nightly  liomage, 
Severne  left  tlie  theatre,  and  soon  aft- 
erward the  ])erformauce  concluded, 
and  Ina  took  her  friend  home. 


Ashmead  was  in  the  hall  to  show 
his  patroness  to  her  carriage — a  duty 
he  never  failed  in.  Rhoda  shook 
hands  witii  him,  and  he  said,  "De- 
lighted to  see  you  here,  miss.  You 
will  be  a  great  comfort  to  her." 

The  two  friends  communed  till  two 
o'clock  in  tlie  morning :  but  the  limits 
of  my  tale  forbid  me  to  repeat  what 
passed.  Suffice  it  to  say  that  Rhoda 
was  fairly  puzzled  by  the  situation  ; 
but,  having  a  great  regard  for  Vizard, 
saw  clearly  enough  that  he  ought  to  be 
sent  back  to  Islip.  She  thought  that 
perhaps  the  very  sight  of  her  would 
wound  his  pride,  and,  finding  his  ma- 
nia discovered  by  a  third  jierson,  he 
would  go  of  his  own  accord :  so  she 
called  on  him. 

My  lord  received  her  with  friendly 
composure,  and  all  his  talk  was  about 
Islip.  He  did  not  condescend  to  ex- 
plain his  presence  at  Carlisle.  He 
knew  that  qui  sexcuse  s'accuse,  and 
left  her  to  remonstrate.  She  had 
hardly  courage  for  that,  and  hoped  it 
might  be  unnecessary. 

She  told  Ina  what  she  had  done. 
But  her  visit  was  futile:  at  night 
there  was  Vizard  in  his  box. 

Xext  day  the  company  opened  in 
Manchester.  Vizard  was  in  his  box 
there — Severne  in  front,  till  Ina's  prin- 
cipal song.  Then  he  came  round  and 
presented  his  boiu[uet.  But  tiiis  time 
lie  came  up  to  Rhoda  Gale,  and  asked 
her  whether  a  ])eiiitent  man  might  pay 
his  respects  to  her  in  the  morning. 

She  said  she  believed  there  were 
very  few  penitents  in  the  world. 

"I  know  one,"  said  he. 

"Well,  I  don't,  then,"  said  the  vi- 
rago. "  But  you  can  come,  if  you  are 
not  afraid." 

Of  course  Ina  Klosking  knew  of 
this  appointment  two  minutes  after 
it  was  made.  She  merely  said,  "Do 
not  let  him  talk  you  over." 

"  He  is  not  so  likely  to  talk  me  over 
as  you,"  said  Rhoda. 

'•You  are  mistaken,"  was  Ina's  re- 
ply. "I  am  the  one  person  he  will 
never  deceive  again." 


A  WOMAN-IIATEH. 


Kiiodii  Giile  received  liis  visit :  lie 
did  not  beat  about  tiie  bush,  nor  fence 
at  all.  He  declared  at  once  what  he 
came  for.  He  said,  "At  tlie  first 
sijjlit  of  von,  \vliom  I  have  been  so 
iMigrateful  to,  I  could  not  speak  ;  but 
now  I  throw  myself  on  your  forgive- 
ness. I  think  you  must  have  seen 
that  my  ingratitude  has  never  sat  light 
on  me." 

' '  I  have  seen  that  you  were  terribly 
afraid  of  me,"  said  slie. 

"I  dare  say  1  was.  But  I  am  not 
afraid  of  you  7iow ;  and  here,  on  my 
knees,  I  implore  you  to  forgive  my 
baseness,  my  ingratitude.  Oh,.  Miss 
Gale,  you  don't  know  what  it  is  to  be 
madly  in  love  ;  one  lias  no  ])rinciple, 
no  right  feeling,  against  a  real  jias- 
sion :  and  I  was  madly  in  love  \vitli 
her.  It  was  througli  fear  of  losing 
her  I  disowned  my  physician,  my  ben- 
efactress, who  had  saved  my  life. 
Miserable  wretch !  It  was  through 
fear  of  losing  her  that  I  behaved  like 
a  ruffian  to  my  angel  wife,  and  would 
have  committed  bigamy,  and  been  a 
felon.  What  was  all  this  but  mad- 
ness? You,  who  are  so  wise,  will  you 
not  forgive  me  a  crime  that  downright 
insanity  was  tlie  cause  of?" 

"Humph!  if  I  understand  right, 
you  wisli  me  to  forgive  you  for  look- 
ing in  my  face,  and  saying  to  the 
woman  who  had  saved  your  life,  '  I 
don't  know  you  ?' " 

"Yes — if  you  can.  No:  now  you 
put  it  in  iilaiu  words,  I  see  it  is  not  to 
be  forgiven." 

"You  are  mistaken.  It  was  like  a 
stab  to  my  heart,  and  I  cried  bitterly 
over  it." 

"Then  I  deserve  to  be  hanged; 
that  is  all." 

"But,  on  consideration,  I  believe 
it  is  as  mucii  your  nature  to  be  wick- 
ed as  it  is  my  angel  Ina's  to  be  good. 
So  I  forgive  you  that  one  thing,  you 
charming  villain."  She  held  out  her 
hand  to  him  in  proof  of  her  good 
faiih. 

lie  threw  himself  on  his  knees  di- 
rectly, and  kissed  and   mumbled  her 


hand,  and  bedewed  it  with  hysterical 
tears. 

"Oh,  don't  do  that," said  she;  "or 
I'm  bound  to  give  you  a  good  kick. 
I  hate  she-men." 

"Give  me  a  moment,"  said  he, 
"and  I  will  be  a  man  again." 

He  sat  with  his  face  in  his  hands, 
gulping  a  little. 

"  Come,"  said  she,  cocking  her  head 
like  a  keen  jackdaw;  "now  let  us 
have  the  real  object  of  your  visit." 

"No,  no,"  said  he,  inadvertently — 
"another  time  will  do  for  that.  I 
am  content  with  your  forgiveness. 
Now  I  can  wait." 

"What  for?" 

"Can  you  ask?  Do  you  consider 
this  a  hapjiy  state  of  things?" 

"  Certainly  not.  But  it  can't  be 
helped  :  and  we  have  to  thank  vou  for 
it." 

"It  could  be  helped  in  time.  If 
you  wouM  persuade  her  to  take  the 
first  step." 

"What  step?" 

"Not  to  disown  her  husband.  To 
let  him  at  least  be  her  friend  —  her 
penitent,  humble  friend.  We  are 
man  and  wife.  If  I  were  to  say  so 
publicly,  she  would  admit  it.  In  this 
respect  at  least  I  have  been  generous : 
wil).she  not  be  generous  too?  What 
harm  could  it  do  her  if  we  lived  un- 
der the  same  roof,  and  I  took  her  to 
the  theatre,  and  fetched  her  home, 
and  did  little  friendly  (jthccs  for  her?" 

"And  so  got  the  tiiiu  edge  of  the 
wedge  in,  eh  ?  Mr.  Severiie,  I  de- 
cline all  interference  in  a  matter  so 
delicate,  and  in  favor  of  a  person  who 
would  use  her  as  ill  as  ever,  if  he  once 
succeeded  in  recovering  her  affec- 
tions." 

So  then  she  dismissed  him  peremp- 
torily. 

But,  true  to  Vizard's  interest,  she 
called  on  him  again,  and,  after  a  few 
preliminaries,  let  him  know  that  Sev- 
erne  was  every  night  behind  the  scenes. 

A  sjiasm  crossed  his  face.  "I  am 
(piite  aware  of  that,"  said  he.  "  But 
he  is  never  admitted  into  her  house." 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


233 


* '  How  do  you  know  ?" 

"He  is  under  constant  suiTeil- 
lancc." 

"Spies?" 

"No.  Thief- takers.  All  from 
Scotland  Yard." 

"And  love  brings  men  down  to 
this.     What  is  it  for?" 

"When  I  am  sure  of  your  co-oper- 
ation, I  will  let  you  know  my  hopes." 

"lie  doubts  my  friendship,"  said 
Ulioda,  sorrowfully. 

"  No ;  only  your  discretion." 

"I  will  be  discreet." 

"Well,  then,  sooner  or  later,  he  is 
sure  to  form  some  improper  connec- 
tion or  other;  and  then  1  hope  you 
will  aid  me  iu  persuading  her  to  di- 
vorce him." 

"That  is  not  so  easy  in  this  coun- 
try. It  is  not  like  our  Western 
States,  where,  the  saying  is,  they  give 
you  five  miTuUes  at  a  railway-station 
for  di — vorce." 

"  You  forget  she  is  a  German  Prot- 
estant, and  the  marriage  was  in  that 
country.     It  will  be  easy  enough." 

"Very  well;  dismiss  it  from  your 
mind.  She  will  never  come  before 
the  public  in  that  way.  Nothing  you 
nor  I  could  urge  would  induce  her." 

Vizard  replied,  doggedly,  "I  will 
never  despair,  so  long  as  she  keeps 
him  out  of  her  house." 

Ithoda  told  Ina  Klosking  this,  and 
said,  "Now  it  is  in  your  own  hands. 
You  have  only  to  let  your  charming 
villain  into  your  house,  and  Mr.  Viz- 
ard will  return  to  Islip." 

Ina  Klosknig  buried  her  face  in  her 
hands,  and  thought. 

At  night,  Vizanl  in  his  box,  as  ns- 
iial.  Severne  behind  the  scenes  with 
Ills  boufiuet.  But  this  night  he  staid 
for  the  ballet,  to  see  a  French  dan- 
seuse  who  had  joined  them.  He  was 
ac(piainted  with  her  before,  and  had  a 
sjirightly  conversation  with  her.  In 
other  words,  he  renewed  an  old  llirta- 
tion. 

The  next  opera  night  all  went  as 
usual.  Vizard  in  the  box,  looking 
sadder   than   usual.      Ivhoda's   good 


sense  had  not  been  entirely  wasted. 
Severne,  with  his  bouquet,  and  his 
grave  humility,  until  the  play  ended, 
and  La  Klosking  passed  out  into  tiie 
hall.  Her  back  was  hardly  turned, 
when  Mademoiselle  Lafontaine,  dress- 
ed for  the  ballet,  in  a  most  spicy  cos- 
tume, danced  up  to  her  old  friend,  and 
slapped  his  face  very  softly  with  a  rose, 
then  sprung  away,  and  stood  on  her 
defense. 

"I'll  have  that  rose,"  cried  Severne. 

"Nenni." 

"And  a  kiss  into  the  bargain." 

"Jamais." 

"C'est  ce  que  nous  verrons. " 

He  chased  her.  She  uttered  a 
feigned  "Ah  !"and  darted  away.  lie 
followed  her ;  she  crossed  the  scene 
at  the  back,  where  it  was  dark,  bound- 
ed over  an  open  trap,  which  she  saw 
just  in  time,  but  Severne,  not  seeing 
it,  because  she  was  between  him  and 
it,  fell  through  it,  and,-  striking  the 
mazarine,  fell  into  the  cellar,  fifteen 
feet  below  the  stage. 

The  screams  of  the  dancers  soon 
brought  a  crowd  round  the  trap,  and 
reached  JMademoiselle  Klosking  just 
as  she  was  going  out  to  her  carriage. 
"There!"  she  cried.  "Another  ac- 
cident!" and  she  came  back,  making 
sure  it  was  some  poor  carpenter  come 
to  grief,  as  usual.  On  such  occasions 
her  purse  was  always  ready. 

They  brought  Severne  up  sensible, 
but  moaning,  and  bleeding  at  the  tem- 
ple, and  looking  all  streaky  about  the 
face. 

They  were  going  to  take  him  to  the 
infirmary  ;  hut  Mademoiselle  Klos- 
king, with  a  face  of  angelic  pity,  said, 
"No;  he  bleeds,  he  bleeds.  lie  must 
go  to  my  house." 

They  stared  a  little ;  but  it  takes  a 
good  deal  to  astonish  pcoidc  iu  a  the- 
atre. 

Severne  was  carried  out,  his  head 
hastily  bandaged,  and  he  was  lifted 
into  La  Klosking's  carriage.  One  of 
the  people  of  the  theatre  was  direct- 
ed to  go  on  the  box,  and  La  Klosking 
and  Ashmead  supported  him,  and  he 


234 


A  WOMAN-IIxVTER. 


was  taken  to  licr  lodgings.  Slie  di- 
rected him  to  be  laid  on  a  couch,  and 
a  pliysician  sent  for,  I\Iiss  Gale  not 
having  yet  returned  from  Liverpool, 
whither  she  had  gone  to  attend  a  lect- 
ure. 

Aslimead  went  for  the  physician. 
But  almost  at  the  door  he  met  JMiss 
Gale  and  JNIr.  Vizard. 

"  Miss,"  said  lie,  "yon  are  wanted. 
There  has  been  an  accident.  Mr. 
Severne  has  fallen  through  a  trap,  and 
into  the  cellar." 

"No  bones  broken?" 

"Not  he:  he  has  only  broken  his 
head  ;  and  that  will  cost  her  a  broken 
heart." 

"  Where  is  he  ?" 

"Where  I  hoped  never  to  sec  him 
again." 

"What!  in  her  house?"  said  Rho- 
da,  and  hurried  off  at  once. 

"Mr.  Ashmead,"  said  Vizard,  "a 
word  with  you." 

"By  all  means,  sir," said  Ashmead, 
"as  we  go  for  the  doctor.  Dr.  Men- 
teith  has  a  great  name.  He  lives 
close  by  your  hotel,  sir." 

As  they  went,  Vizard  asked  him 
wliat  he  meant  by  saying  this  acci- 
dent would  cost  her  a  broken  heart. 

"Why,  sir," said  Ashmead,  "he  is 
on  his  good  behavior  to  get  back  ;  has 
been  for  months  begging  and  jirayiiig 
just  to  be  let  live  under  the  same  roof. 
She  has  always  refused.  But  some 
fellows  have  such  luck.  I  don't  say 
he  fell  down  a  trap  on  purpose ;  but 
lie  has  done  it,  and  no  broken  bones, 
but  plenty  of  blood.  That  is  the  very 
thing  to  overcome  a  woman's  feelings  ; 
and  she  is  not  jn-oof  against  ])ity.  He 
will  have  her  again.  Why,  she  is  his 
nurse  now;  and  see  liow  that  will 
work.  We  have  a  week's  more  busi- 
ness here;  and,  by  bad  luck,  a  dead 
fortnight,  all  along  of  ])iibliii  falling 
tliiougli  unexpectedly.  lie  is  as  art- 
ful as  Old  Nick;  he  will  spin  out  that 
broken  head  of  his  and  make  it  last 
all  the  three  weeks ;  and  she  will 
nurse  him,  and  he  will  be  weak,  and 
grateful,  and  cry,  and  beg  her  pardon 


six  times  a  day,  and  she  is  only  a 
woman,  after  all :  and  they  are  man 
and  wife,  when  all  is  done :  the  road 
is  beaten.  They  will  run  upon  it 
again,  till  his  time  is  up  to  play  the 
rogue  as  bad  as  ever." 

"You  torture  me,"  said  Vizard. 

"  I  am  afraid  I  do,  sir.  But  I  feel 
it  my  duty.  l\Ir.  Vizard,  you  are  a 
noble  gentleman,  and  I  am  only  what 
you  see ;  but  the  himiblest  folk  will 
have  their  likes  and  dislikes,  and  I 
have  a  great  respect  for  you,  sir.  I 
can't  tell  you  the  mixtme  of  things  I 
feel  when  I  see  you  in  the  same  box 
every  night.  Of  course,  I  am  her 
agent,  and  the  house  would  not  be 
complete  without  you  ;  but  as  a  man 
I  am  sorry.  P^specially  now  that  she 
has  let  him  into  her  house.  'J'akc  a 
humble  friend's  advice,  sir,  and  cut  it. 
Don't  you  come  between  any  woman 
and  her  husband,  especially  a  public 
hidy.  She  will  n'ever  be  more  to  you 
than  she  is.  She  is  a  good  woman, 
and  he  must  keep  gaining  ground, 
lie  has  got  the  pull.  Kouse  all  your 
pride,  sir,  and  your  manhood,  and  you 
have  got  plenty  of  both,  and  cut  it; 
don't  look  right  nor  left,  but  cut  it — 
and  forgive  my  presumption." 

Vizard  was  greatly  moved.  "  Give 
me  your  hand,"  he  said;  "you  are  a 
worthy  man.  I'll  act  on  your  advice, 
and  never  forget  what  I  owe  j'ou. 
Stick  to  me  like  a  leech,  and  see  me 
oiF  by  the  next  train,  for  I  am  going 
to  tear  my  heart  out  of  my  bosom." 

Luckily  there  was  a  train  in  half  an 
hoiu',  and  Ashmead  saw  him  off;  then 
went  to  sujiper.  He  did  not  return 
to  Ina's  lodgings.  He  did  not  want 
to  see  Severne  inirsed.  He  liked  the 
fellow,  too ;  but  he  saw  through  him 
clean ;  and  he  worshiped  Ina  Klos- 
king. 


CIIArTER  XXX. 

At  one  o'clock  next  day,  Ashmead 
received  a  note  from  Mademoiselle 
Klosking,  saying,  "Arrange  with  Mr. 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


235 


X to  close  my  tour  with  Manches- 
ter. Pay  the  fortnight,  if  lequired." 
She  was  with  the  company  at  a  month's 
notice  on  either  side,  you  must  under- 
stand. 

Instead  of  going  to  the  manager, 
he  went  at  once,  in  utter  dismay,  to 
Mademoiselle  Klosking,  and  there 
learned  in  substance  what  I  must  now 
briefly  relate. 

Miss  Gale  found  Edward  Severne 
deposited  on  a  sofa.  Ina  was  on  her 
knees  by  his  side,  sponging  his  bleed- 
ing temple,  with  looks  of  gentle  pity. 
Strange  to  say,  the  wound  was  in  the 
same  place  as  his  wife's,  but  more  con- 
tused, and  no  large  vein  was  divided. 
Miss  Gale  soon  stanched  that.  She 
asked  him  where  his  pain  was.  He 
said  it  was  in  his  head  and  Ills  back;  and 
he  cast  a  haggard,  anxious  look  on  her. 

"Take  my  arm,"  said  she.  "  Now, 
stand  up." 

lie  tried,  hnt  could  not,  and  said 
his  legs  wei'e  beuumbed.  Miss  Gale 
looked  grave. 

"Lay  him  on  my  bed,"  said  La 
Klosking.  "That  is  better  than 
these  hard  couches." 

"You  are  right,"  said  Miss  Gale. 
"  Ring  for  the  servants.  He  must  be 
moved  gently." 

He  was  carried  in,  and  set  upon 
the  edge  of  the  bed.  and  his  coat  and 
waistcoat  taken  off.  Then  he  was 
laid  gently  down  on  the  bed,  and  cov- 
ered with  a  down  quilt. 

Doctress  Cialo  then  requested  Ina 
to  leave  the  room,  while  she  question- 
ed tlie  patient. 

Ina  retired. 

In  a  moment  or  two  Miss  Gale 
came  out  to  her  softly. 

At  sight  of  her  face,  La  Klosking 
said,  "  Oh  dear ;  it  is  more  serious 
than  we  thought." 

"Very  serious." 

"Poor  Edward!" 

"Collect  all  your  courage,  for  I 
can  not  lie,  either  to  patient  or  friend." 

"And  you  are  right,"  said  La  Klos- 
king, trembling.  "I  see  he  is  in 
danger." 


"Worse  than  that.  Where  there's 
danger  there  is  hope.  Here  there  is 
none.     He  is  a  dead  man  !" 

"Oh  no!  no!" 

"  He  has  broken  his  back,  and  noth- 
ing can  save  him.  His  lower  limbs 
have  already  lost  sensation.  Death 
will  creep  over  the  rest.  Uo  not  dis- 
tuib  your  mind  with  idle  hopes.  You 
have  two  things  to  thank  God  for — 
that  you  took  him  into  your  own 
house,  and  that  he  will  die  easily.  In- 
deed, wcie  he  to  suffer,  I  should  stu- 
petV  him  at  once,  for  nothing  can  hurt 
hiin." 

Ina  Klosking  turned  faint,  and  her 
knees  gave  way  under  her.  Rhoda 
ministered  to  her;  and  while  she  was 
so  employed,  Ur.  Menteith  was  an- 
nounced. He  was  shown  in  to  the 
patient,  and  the  accident  described  to 
him.  He  questioned  the  patient,  and 
examined  him  alone. 

He  then  came  out,  and  said  he 
would  draw  a  prescription.     He  did  so. 

"  Doctor,"  said  La  Klosking,  "tell 
me  the  truth.  It  can  nut  be  worse 
than  I  fear." 

"Madam,"  said  the  doctor,  "med- 
icine can  do  nothing  for  him.  The 
spinal  cord  is  divided.  Give  him  any 
tiling  he  fancies,  and  my  prescription 
if  lie  sutlers  pain,  not  otherwise.  Shall 
I  send  you  a  nurse  ?" 

"  No,"  said  Mademoiselle  Klosking, 
"  ?/'e  will  nurse  him  night  and  day." 

He  retired,  and  the  friends  entered 
on  their  sad  duties. 

When  Severne  saw  them  both  by 
his  bedside,  with  earnest  looks  of  ])iiy, 
he  said,  "Do  not  worry  yourselves. 
I'm  booked  for  the  long  journey.  Ah, 
well,  I  shall  die  where  1  ought  to  have 
lived,  and  might  have,  if  I  had  not 
been  a  fool." 

Ina  wept  bitterly. 

They  nursed  him  night  and  dav. 
He  sulfered  little,  and  when  he  did, 
Miss  Gale  stui)cfied  the  pain  at  once; 
for,  as  she  truly  said,  "  Nothing  can 
hurt  him."  Vitality  gradually  retired 
to  his  head,  anil  lingered  there  a  whole 
day.     But,  to  Iiis  last  moment,  the  art 


23tJ 


A  WOJIAN-ILVTER. 


of  pleasing  never  ab.aiuloned  him.  In- 
stead of  worrying  for  this  or  that  ev- 
ery moment,  he  siiowcd  in  tiiis  desper- 
ate condition  singnhir  patience  and 
well-hred  fortitude.  lie  ciieci^ed  liis 
wife's  tears;  assured  her  it  was  all 
for  the  hest,  and  tliat  he  was  recon- 
ciled to  tlie  inevitahle.  "  I  have  had  a 
ha))pier  time  tiian  I  deserve,"  said  he, 
"and  now  I  have  a  painless  deatii, 
nursed  by  two  sweet  women.  My 
only  regret  is  that  I  shall  not  he  able 
to  repay  your  devotion,  Ina,  nur  be- 
come worthv  of  vour  friendsliip.  Miss 
Gale."  •        •  ^ 

He  died  without  fear,  it  being  his 
conviction  that  he  should  return  after 
death  to  the  precise  condition  in  which 
he  was  before  birth  ;  and  when  thev 
begged  him  to  see  a  clergyman,  he 
said,  "Pray  do  not  give  yourselves  or 
him  that  trouble.  1  can  melt  back 
into  the  universe  without  iiis  assist- 
ance."' 

He  even  died  content ;  for  tliis  pol- 
ished Bohamian  had  often  foreseen 
that,  if  he  lived  long,  he  sliould  die 
miserably. 

But  the  main  feature  of  iiis  end 
was  his  extraordinary  politeness.  He 
])aid  Miss  Gale  compliments  just  as  if 
he  were  at  his  esii^e  on  a  sofa:  and 
scarce  an  hour  before  his  decease  he 
said,  faintly,  "I  declare — I  have  been 
.so  busy — dying — I  iiave  forgotten  to 
send  my  kind  regards  to  good  JMr. 
Ashmead.  Pray  tell  him  I  did  not 
forget  his  kindness  to  me." 

He  just  ceased  to  live,  so  quiet  was 
his  death,  and  a  smile  rested  on  his 
dead  features,  and  they  were  as  beau- 
tifid  as  ever. 

Ho  ended  a  fair,  pernicious  creature, 
endowed  too  riciily  with  the  art  of 
jileasing,  and  quite  devoid  of  ])rinciple. 
Few  bad  men  knew  right  so  well,  and 
went  so  wrong. 

Ina  buried  her  face  for  hours  on  his 
bed,  and  kissed  his  cold  feattu'es  and 
hand.  She  had  told  iiim  before  he 
died  she  would  recall  all  her  resolu- 
tions, if  he  would  live.  But  he  was 
gone.     Death  buries  a  man's  many 


faults,  and  his  few  virtues  rise  again. 
She  mourned  him  sincerely,  and  would 
not  be  comforted;  she  jjurchased  a 
burying-])lace  forever,  and  laid  him  in 
it ;  tiien  she  took  her  aching  iieart  far 
away,  and  was  lost  to  t!ie  public  and 
to  all  her  English  friends. 

The  faithful  Rhoda  accompanied 
her  half-way  to  London  ;  tiien  return- 
ed to  her  own  duties  in  Barfordshire. 


CHAPTER  XXXf. 

I  MUST  now  retrograde  a  little  to 
relate  something  ratlier  curious,  and 
I  ho])e  not  uninteresting. 

Zoe  Vizard  iiad  been  for  some  time 
acting  on  Mis.  Gale's  advice;  build- 
ing, planning  for  tiie  good  of  the  poor, 
and  going  out  of  herself  more  and 
more.  She  compared  notes  constant- 
ly with  Miss  Gale,  and  conceived  a 
friendship  for  her.  It  had  been  a 
long  time  coming,  because  at  first  she 
disliked  Miss  Gale's  manners  very 
mucli.  But  that  lady  had  nursed  her 
tenderly,  and  now  advised  her,  and 
Zoe,  who  could  not  do  any  tiling  by 
halves,  became  devoted  to  her. 

As  she  warmed  to  her  good  work, 
she  gave  signs  of  clearer  judgment. 
She  never  mentioned  Severne;  but 
she  no  longer  absolutely  avoided  Ina 
Kiosking's  name ;  and  one  day  siie 
s])oke  of  Iier  as  n  high  -  principled 
woman  ;  for  which  the  Gale  kissed 
her  on  the  s])ot. 

One  name  she  often  uttered,  and 
always  with  regret  and  self-reproacii 
— Lord  Uxmoor's.  I  think  that,  now 
she  was  herself  liuilding  and  planning 
for  the  permanent  improvement  of  the 
poor,  she  felt  tlie  tie  of  a  kimlred  sen- 
timenr.  Uxmoor  was  her  predecessor 
in  tills  good  work,  too;  and  wotdd 
have  been  iier  associate,  it'  she  had  not 
been  so  blind.  This  thought  struck 
deep  in  her.  Her  mind  ran  more 
and  more  on  Uxmoor,  ids  manliness, 
his   cour.agc  in  her  defense,  a4ul  his 


A  WOMAX-HATEK. 


237 


gentlemanly  fortitude  and  bravery  in 
leaving  her,  without  a  word,  at  her 
request,  llunning  over  all  these,  slie 
often  blushed  with  shame,  and  her 
eyes  filled  with  sorrow  at  thinking  of 
how  she  had  treated  him  ;  and  lost 
him  forever  by  not  deserving  him. 

She  even  made  oblique  and  timid 
inquiries,  but  coidd  learn  nothing  of 
him,  except  that  he  sent  periodical 
remittances  to  JMiss  Gale,  for  mana- 
ging his  improvements.  Tiiese,  how 
ever,  came  in  tlirougli  a  country  agent 
from  a  town  agent,  and  left  no  clue. 

But  one  fine  day,  with  no  warning 
except  to  his  own  people.  Lord  Ux- 
moor  came  liome ;  and  the  next  day 
rode  to  Ilillstoke  to  talk  matters  over 
with  INIiss  Gale.  lie  was  fortunate 
enough  to  find  her  at  home.  lie 
tlianked  her  for  the  zeal  and  enthusi- 
asm she  had  shown,  and  tlie  progress 
his  works  had  made  under  her  super- 
vision. 

He  was  going  away  without  even 
mentioning  tlie  Vizard  family. 

But  the  crafty  (iaie  detained  him. 
"Going  to  Vizard  Court?"'  said  she. 

"No,"  said  he,  very  dryly. 

"Ah,  I  understand;  but  perha])s 
you  would  not  mind  going  witli  me 
as  far  as  Islip.  There  is  something 
there  I  wish  you  to  see." 

"  Hum))li  ?  Is  it  any  thing  very 
particular?     Because — " 

"  It  is.  Three  cottages  rising,  wiili 
little  flower-gardens  in  front.  Square 
plots  behind,  and  arrangements  for 
breeding  calves,  witli  other  ingenious 
novelties.  A  new  head  come  into  our 
business,  my  lord." 

"You  luive  converted  Vizard?  I 
thouglit  you  woukl.  He  is  a  satirical 
fellow,  but  he  will  listen  to  reason." 

"  No,  it  is  not  Mr.  Vizard  ;  indeed, 
it  is  no  convert  of  mine.  It  is  an  in- 
dependent enthusiast.  But  I  really 
believe  your  work  at  iionie  Iiad  some 
hand  in  firing  her  entliusiasm." 

"A  lady!     Do  I  know  her?" 

"You  may.  I  suppose  you  know 
every  body  in  Barfordshire.  AVill 
you  come?     Do!" 


"Of  course  I  will  come.  Miss  Gale. 
Please  tell  one  of  your  people  to  walk 
my  horse  down  after  us." 

She  iiad  her  hat  on  in  a  moment, 
and  walked  him  down  to  Islip. 

Her  tongue  was  not  idle  on  the 
road.  "You  don't  ask  after  the  peo- 
ple," said  she.  "There's  poor  iliss 
Vizard.  She  had  a  sad  iihiess.  We 
were  almost  afraid  we  should  lose 
her." 

"Heaven  forbid!"  said  Uxmoor, 
startled  by  tliis  sudden  news. 

"Mademoiselle  Klosking  got  quite 
well;  and  oh!  what  do  you  think? 
Mr.  Severne  turned  out  to  be  her  hus- 
band." 

"  What  is  that?"  shouted  Uxmoor, 
and  stojjped  dead  sliort.  "Mr.  Sev- 
erne a  married  man !" 

"Yes  ;  and  Jlademoiselle  Klosking 
a  married  woman." 

"You  amaze  me.  W^Iiy,  that  ]Mr. 
Severne  was  i)aying  his  attentions  to 
Miss  Vizard." 

"  So  I  used  to  fancy,"  said  Rlioda, 
carelessly.  "But  you  see  it  came 
out  he  was  married,  and  so  of  course 
she  packed  him  oft'  with  a  flea  in  his 
ear." 

"Did  she?    When  was  that?" 

"Let  me  see,  it  was  the  17th  of 
October." 

"  Wiiv,  that  was  the  verv  daj- 1  left 
England." 

"How  odd!  Why  did  you  not 
stay  another  week?  Gentlemen  are 
so  impatient.  Never  mind,  tiiat  is 
an  old  story  now.  Here  we  are ; 
tliose  are  the  cottages.  Tlie  work- 
men are  at  dinner.  Ten  to  one  the 
enthusiast  is  there:  this  is  her  time. 
You  stay  here.  I'll  go  and  see." 
She  went  oft'  on  tiptoe,  and  peeped 
and  pried  here  and  tiiere,  like  a  young 
witch.  Presently  she  took  a  few 
steps  toward  him,  witli  lier  finger  mys- 
teriously to  her  lips,  and  beckoned 
him.  He  entered  into  the  i)antomime 
— she  seemed  so  earnest  in  it — and 
came  to  her  softly. 

"Do  just  take  a  peep  in  at  that 
opening  for  a  door,''  said  siic,  "then 


238 


A  ^yoJIi\:N-IIATER. 


you'll  see  her;  lier  back  is  turned. 
iSlie  is  lovely ;  only,  you  know,  she 
lias  been  ill,  and  I  don't  think  slie  is 
very  ha])]>y." 

Uxnioor  thought  this  peeping  at  en- 
thusiasts I'ather  an  odd  prot-eedhij;, 
but  Miss  Gale  had  i)rimed  his  curi- 
osity, and  he  felt  naturally  proud  of  a 
female  pupil,  lie  stei)ped  up  light- 
ly, looked  in  at  the  door,  and,  to  his 
amazement,  saw  Zoe  Vizard  sitting 
on  a  carpenter's  bench,  with  her  love- 
ly head  in  the  sun's  rays.  He  start- 
ed, tiien  gazed,  then  devoured  her  with 
his  eyes. 

AVhat !  was  tiiis  his  ])u])il? 

IIow  gentle  ami  sad  she  seemed ! 
All  his  stoicism  melted  at  the  sight 
of  her.  She  sat  in  a  sweet,  pensive 
attitude,  pale  and  droo])ing,  but,  to  his 
fancy,  lovelier  than  ever.  She  gave  a 
little  sigh.  His  heart  yearned.  She 
took  out  a  letter,  read  it  slowly,  and 
said,  softly  and  slowly,  "Poor  fel- 
low!" He  thought  he  recognized  his 
own  handwriting,  and  could  stand  no 
more.  He  rushed  in,  and  was  going 
to  speak  to  her;  but  she  screamed, 
and  no  cotijurer  ever  made  a  card  dis- 
appear quicker  than  she  did  tliat  let- 
ter, as  slie  bounded  away  like  a  deer, 
and  stood,  blushing  scarlet,  and  jjalpi- 
tating  all  over. 

Uxmoor  was  ashamed  of  his  brits- 
querie. 

"What  a  brute  I  am  to  frighten 
'you  like  this!"  said  he.  "Pray  for- 
give me;  but  the  sight  of  yon,  after 
all  these  weary  montlis — and  vou  said 
'  Poor  fellow  V  " 

"Did  I?"  said  Zoe,  faintly,  look- 
ing scared. 

"Yes,  sweet  Zoe,  and  you  were 
reading  a  letter." 

No  rejily. 

"I  thought  the  poor  fellow  might 
be  myself.  Not  that  I  am  to  be  pit- 
ied, if  you  think  of  me  still." 

"I  do,  then — very  often.  Oh, 
Lord  Uxmoor,  I  want  to  go  down  on 
my  knees  to  you." 

"That  is  odd,  now;  for  it  is  exact- 
ly what  I  should  like  to  do  to  you." 


"What  for ?  It  is  I  who  have  be- 
haved so  ill." 

"  Never  mind  that ;  I  love  you." 

"  lint  you  mustn't.  You  must  love 
some  worthy  person." 

"  Oh,  you  leave  that  to  me.  I  have 
no  other  intention.  But  may  I  just 
see  whose  letter  you  were  reading':'" 

"Oh,  ])ray  don't  ask  me." 

"I  insist  on  knowing." 

"I  will  not  tell  you.  There  it  is." 
Site  gave  it  to  him  with  a  guilty  air, 
and  hid  her  face. 

"  Dear  Zoe,  suppose  I  were  to  re- 
l>eat  the  offer  I  made  here?" 

"  I  advise  you  not,"  said  she,  all  in 
a  llurrv. 

"Why?" 

"Because.  Because — I  might  say 
'Yes.'" 

"Well,  then  I'll  take  my  chance 
once  more.  Zoe,  will  you  try  and 
love  me  ?" 

"Try  ?  I  believe  I  do  love  you,  or 
nearly.     I  think  of  you  very  often." 

"Then  you  will  do  something  to 
make  me  happy." 

"Any  thing;   every  thing." 

"Will  you  marry  me?" 

"Yes,  "that  I  will,"  said  Zoe,  al- 
most impetuously ;  "and  then,"  with 
a  grand  look  of  conscious  beauty,  "I 
can  make  you  forgive  me." 

Uxmoor,  on  thi.s,  caught  her  in  his 
arms,  and  kissed  her  with  such  fire 
that  she  uttered  a  little  stiHed  cry  of 
alarm ;  but  it  was  soon  followed  hy  a 
sigii  of  comjilacency,  and  she  sunk, 
resistless,  on  his  manly  breast. 

So,  after  two  sieges,  he  carried  that 
fair  citadel  by  assault. 

Then  let  not  the  manly  heart  de- 
spair, nor  take  a  mere  brace  of  "Noes" 
from  any  Avoman.  Nothing  short  of 
three  negatives  is  serious. 

They  walked  out  arm-in-arm,  and 
very  close  to  each  other ;  and  he  left 
her,  solemnly  engaged. 

Leaving  tiiis  pair  to  the  delights  of 
courtshi]),  and  growing  affection  on 
Zoe's  side — for  a  warm  attachment  of 
the  noblest  kind  did  grow,  by  degrees, 
out  of  her  penitence  and  esteem,  and 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


23a 


desire  to  repair  her  fault — I  must  now 
take  up  the  other  thread  of  this  nar- 
rative, and  apologize  for  having  in- 
verted the  order  of  events ;  for  it  was, 
in  reality,  several  days  after  this  hap- 
py scene  that  Mademoiselle  Klosking 
sent  for  Miss  Gale. 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

Vizard,  then,  with  Asiimead,  re- 
turned home  in  despair ;  and  Zoe, 
now  happy  in  her  own  mind,  was  all 
tenderness  and  sisterly  consolation. 
They  opened  their  hearts  to  each  oth- 
er, and  she  showed  her  wisli  to  repay 
the  debt  she  owed  him.  How  far  she 
might  have  succeeded,  in  time,  will 
never  be  known.  For  he  had  hardly 
heen  home  a  week,  when  Miss  Gale 
returned,  all  in  black,  and  told  him 
Severne  was  dead  and  buried. 

He  was  startled,  and  even  shocked, 
remembering  old  times ;  but  it  was 
not  in  human  nature  he  should  be  sor- 
ry. Not  to  be  indecorously  glad  at  so 
opportune  an  exit  was  all  that  could 
be  expected  from  him. 

"When  she  had  given  him  the  de- 
tails, his  first  question  was,  "How 
did  she  bear  it?" 

".Slie  is  terribly  cut  up — more  than 
one  would  think  ])ossible  ;  for  she  was 
ice  and  marble  to  him  before  he  was 
lunt  to  death." 

"Where  is  she?" 

"  Gone  to  London.  She  will  write 
to  me,  I  suppose  —  poor  dear.  But 
one  must  give  her  time." 

Erom  that  hour  Vizard  was  in  a 
state  of  excitement,  ho])ing  to  hear 
from  Ina  Klosking,  or  about  her;  but 
unnilling,  from  delicacy,  to  hurry 
matters. 

At  last  he  became  impatient,  and 
wrote  to  Ashmead,  vhose  address  he 
had,  and  said,  frankly,  lie  had  a  deli- 
cacy in  intruding  on  Mademoiselle 
Klosking,  in  her  grief.  Yet  his  own 
feelings  would  not  allow  him  to  seem 
to  neglect  her.     Would  Mr.  Ashmead, 


then,  tell  him  where  she  was,  as  she 
had  not  written  to  any  one  in  Bar- 
fordshire — not  even  to  her  tried  friend. 
Miss  Gale. 

He  received  an  answer  by  return 
of  post : 

"Dkar  Sir, — I  am  grieved  to  tell 
you  that  Mademoiselle  Ivlosking  has 
retired  from  public  life.  She  wrote 
to  me,  three  weeks  ago,  from  Dover, 
lequesting  me  to  accept,  as  a  token 
of  her  esteem,  tiie  surplus  money  I 
hold  in  hand  for  her — I  always  drew 
her  salary — and  bidding  me  faiewell. 
The  sum  included  her  profits  by  psal- 
mody, minus  her  expenses,  and  was 
so  large  it  could  never  have  been  in- 
tended as  a  mere  recognition  of  my 
humble  services ;  and  1  think  I  have 
seldom  felt  so  down-hearted  as  on  re- 
ceiving this  princely  donation.  It  has 
enabled  me  to  take  better  olfices,  and 
it  may  be  the  foundation  of  a  little 
fortune ;  but  I  feel  that  I  have  lost 
the  truly  great  lady  who  has  made  a 
man  of  me.  Sir,  the  relish  is  gone 
for  my  occupation.  I  can  never  be  so 
happy  as  I  was  in  working  the  inter- 
ests of  that  great  genius,  whose  voice 
made  our  leading  soprani  sound  like 
whistles,  and  who  honored  me  with 
her  friendship.  Sir,  she  was  not  like 
other  leading  ladies.  She  never 
bragged,  never  spoke  ill  of  any  one; 
and  you  can  testify  to  her  virtue  and  ^ 
her  discretion. 

"I  am  truly  sorry  to  learn  from 
you  that  she  has  written  to  no  one  in 
Barfordshire.  I  saw,  by  her  letter  to 
me,  she  had  left  the  stage;  but  her 
dropping  you  all  looks  as  if  she  had 
left  the  world.  I  do  hope  she  has 
not  been  so  mad  as  to  go  into  one  of 
those  cursed  convents. 

"Mr.  Vizard,  I  will  now  write  to 
friends  in  all  the  Continental  towns 
where  there  is  good  music.  She  will 
not  be  able  to  keep  away  from  that 
long.  I  will  also  send  jthotographs ; 
and  hope  we  may  hear  something. 
If  not,  perhaps  a  judicious  advertise- 
ment might  remind  her  that  she  is 


240 


A  WOMAX-IIATER. 


inflicting  pain  iii)on  persons  to  whom 
she  is  dear.  I  am,  sir,  your  obliged 
and  grateful  servant, 

"Joseph  Asiimead." 

Here  was  a  blow.  I  really  believe 
Vizanl  felt  this  more  deeply  than  all 
his  other  disappointments. 

lie  brooded  over  it  for  a  day  or 
two;  and  then,  as  he  thougiit  Miss 
Gale  a  very  ill  -  used  person,  though 
not,  of  course,  so  ill-used  as  hijnself, 
he  took  her  Ashmead's  letter. 

" This  is  nice !"  said  she.  "There 
_ — I  must  give  up  loving  women.  Be- 
sides, they  throw  me  over  the  moment 
a  man  comes,  if  it  happens  to  be  the 
right  one." 

' '  Unnatural  creatures ! "  said  Vizard. 

"  Ungrateful,  at  all  events." 

"Do  vou  think  she  has  gone  into  a 
convent  ?" 

"Not  she.  In  the  first  place,  she 
is  a  Protestant ;  and,  in  the  second, 
she  is  not  a  fool." 

"I  will  advertise." 

"The  idea!" 

"Do  you  think  I  am  going  to  sit 
down  with  my  hands  before  me,  and 
lose  her  forever?" 

"No,  indeed;  I  don't  think  you 
are  that  sort  of  man  at  all,  ha!  ha!" 

"Oh,  Miss  Gale,  pity  me.  Tell  me 
liow  to  find  her.  That  Fanny  Dover 
says  women  are  only  enigmas  to  men  ; 
they  understand  one  another." 

"  What,"  said  Ilhoda,  turning  swift- 
ly on  him  ;  "does  that  little  chit  pre- 
tend to  read  my  noble  Ina?" 

"If  she  can  not,  perhaps  you  can. 
You  are  so  shrewd.  Do  tell  me,  what 
does  it  all  mean  ?" 

"It  means  nothing  at  all,  I  dare 
say  ;  only  a  woman's  impulse.  They 
are  such  geese  at  times,  every  one  of 
them." 

"  Oh,  if  I  did  but  know  what  coun- 
try she  is  in,  I  would  ransack  it." 

"Hum! — countries  arc  biggish 
places." 

"I  don't  care." 

"  What  will  you  give  me  to  tell  you 
where  she  is  at  this  moment  ?" 


"All  I  have  in  the  world." 

"That  is  sufiicient.  Well,  then, 
first  assign  me  your  estates ;  then 
fetch  me  an  ordnance  map  of  crea- 
tion, and  I  will  ])ut  my  finger  on  her." 

"You  little  mocking  fiend,  yon  !" 

"  I  am  not.  I'm  a  tail,  beneficent 
angel ;  and  I'll  tell  you  where  she  is 
— for  nothing.  Keep  your  land  :  who 
wants  it? — it  is  oidy  a  bother." 

"For  pity's  sake,  don't  trifle  with 
me." 

"  I  never  will,  where  your  heart  is 
interested.     IShe  is  at  Zutzig." 

"Ah,  you  good  girl!  She  has 
written  to  you." 

"Not  a  line,  the  monster!  And 
I'll  serve  her  out.  I'll  teach  her  to 
play  hide-and-seek  with  Gale,  M.D. !" 

"Zutzig !"  said  Vizard  ;  " how  can 
you  know?" 

"What  does  that  matter?  Well, 
yes — I  will  reveal  the  mental  process. 
First  of  all,  she  has  gone  to  her  moth- 
er." 

"How  do  you  know  that?" 

"Oh,  dear,  dear,  dear!  Because 
that  is  where  every  daughter  goes  ia 
trouble.  I  should — she  hns.  Fancy 
you  not  seeing  that  —  why,  Fanny 
Dover  woidd  have  told  you  that  much 
ill  a  moment.  Hut  now  you  will  have 
to  thank  my  mother  for  teaching  me 
Attention,  the  parent  of  Memory. 
Pray,  sir,  who  were  the  witnesses  to 
that  abominable  marriage  of  hers?" 

"I  remember  two.  Baron  llom- 
pcsch — " 

"No,  Count  Hompesch." 

"And  Count  Meurice." 

"Viscount.  ^Yhat,  have  you  for- 
gotten Ilerr  Formes,  Fiiiidein  Graafe, 
Ziig  the  Capellmeister,  and  her  very 
mother?  Come  now,  whose  daughter 
IS  she  i 

"  I  forget,  I'm  sure." 

"  Walter  Ferris  and  Eva  Klosking, 
of  Zutzig,  in  Denmark.  Pack — start 
for  Copenhagen.  Consult  an  ordnance 
map  there.  Find  out  Zutzig.  Go  to 
Zutzig,  and  you  have  got  her.  It  is 
some  hole  in  a  wilderness,  and  she 
can't  escape." 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


241 


"You  clever  little  angel!  I'll  be 
tliere  in  three  days.  Do  you  really 
ihink  I  siiall  succeed?" 

"  Your  own  fault  if  you  don't.  She 
has  run  into  a  cul-de-sac  tlirough  be- 
ing too  clever ;  and,  besides,  women 
sometimes  run  away  just  to  be  caught, 
and  hide  on  purpose  to  be  found.  I 
should  not  wonder  if  she  lias  said  to 
herself,  '  He  will  find  me' if  he  loves  nie 
so  very,  very  niucli — I'll  try  iiini.' " 

"Not  a  word  more,  angelic  fox," 
said  Vizard ;  "  I'm  off'  to  Zutzig." 

He  went  out  on  fire.  She  opened 
the  window,  and  screeched  after  him, 
"Every  thing  is  fair  after  her  be- 
havior to  me.  Take  her  a  book  of 
those  spiritual  songs  she  is  so  fond  of. 
'Johnny  comes  marching  home,'  is 
worth  the  lot,  I  reckon." 

Away  went  Vizard  ;  found  Copen- 
hagen witli  ease ;  Zutzig  with  diffi- 
culty, beluga  small  village.  But  once 
there,  he  soon  found  the  farm-house  of 
Eva  Klosking.  He  drove  up  to  the 
door.  A  Danish  laborer  came  out 
from  the  stable  directly  ;  and  a  buxom 
girl,  with  pale  golden  hair,  ojiened  the 
door.  These  two  seized  his  luggage, 
and  conveyed  it  into  the  house,  and 
the  hired  vehicle  to  the  stable.  Vizard 
thought  it  must  be  an  iim. 

The  girl  bid)bled  melodious  sounds, 
and  ran  off  and  brought  a  sweet,  ven- 
erable liame.  Vizard  recognized  Eva 
Klosking  at  once. 

The  old  lady  said,  "  Few  strangers 
come  here — are  you  not  English  ?" 

"  Yes,  madam." 

"It  is  Mr.  Vizard— is  it  not?" 

"Yes,  madam." 

"Ah,  sir,  my  daughter  will  wel- 
come you,  but  not  more  heartily  than 
I  do.  My  child  has  told  me  all  she 
owes  to  you  " — then  in  Danish,  "  God 
bless  the  hour  you  come  under  this 
roof." 

Vizard's  heart  beat  tumultuously, 
wondering  how  Ina  Klosking  would 
receive  him.  The  servant  iuid  told 
her  a  tall  stranger  was  come.  She 
knew  in  a  momont  wlio  it  was ;  so  she 
had  tlie  advantage  of  being  prepared. 
11 


She  came  to  him,  her  cheeks  dyed 
with  blushes,  and  gave  him  botli 
liands.  "  You  here !"  said  she  ;  "oh, 
!ia])py  day !  Mother,  he  must  have  the 
south  chamber.  I  will  go  and  prepare 
it  for  him.  Tecla  ! — Tecla!" — and 
she  was  all  hostess.  She  committed 
him  to  her  mother,  while  she  and  the 
servant  went  ujjstairs. 

He  felt  discomfited  a  little.  He 
wanted  to  know,  all  in  a  moment, 
whether  slie  woidd  love  him. 

However,  Danish  hospitality  has  its 
good  side.  He  soon  found  out  he 
migiit  live  the  rest  of  his  days  there  if 
he  cliose. 

He  soon  got  her  alone,  and  said, 
"  You  knew  I  should  find  you,  cruel 
one." 

"How  could  I  dream  of  such  a 
thing?"  said  she,  blushing. 

"Oh,  Love  is  a  detective.  You 
said  to  yourself,  '  If  he  loves  me  as  I 
ouglit  to  be  loved,  he  will  search  Eu- 
rope for  me  ;  but  he  will  find  me.'  " 

"Oh,  then  it  was  not  to  be  at  peace 
and  rest  on  my  mother's  bosom  I  came 
here ;  it  was  to  give  you  the  trouble 
of  running  after  me.     Oh,  fie!" 

' '  You  are  right.     I  am  a  vain  fool. " 

"No,  that  you  are  not.  After  all, 
how  do  I  know  all  that  was  in  my 
heart  ?  (Ahem  !)  Be  sure  of  this,  you 
are  very  welcome.  I  must  go  and  see 
about  your  dinner." 

In  tliat  Danish  farm-house  life  was 
very  primitive.  Eva  Klosking,  and 
both  her  daughters,  helped  the  two 
female  servants,  or  directed  them,  in 
every  department.  So  Ina,  who  was 
on  her  defense,  had  many  excuses  for 
escaping  Vizard,  when  he  jiressed  her 
too  hotly.  But  at  last  she  was  obliged 
to  say,  "Oh,  pray,  my  friend — we  are 
in  Denmark :  here  widows  are  expect- 
ed to  he  discreet." 

"  But  that  is  tu)  reason  why  the  En- 
glish fellows  who  adore  them  shoidd 
be  discreet." 

"Perini])s  not:  but  then  the  Da- 
nish lady  runs  away." 

Which  she  did.  " 

But,  after  the  bustle  of  the  first  day. 


242 


A.  WOMAN-HATER. 


he  had  so  many  opportunities.  He 
walked  with  iier,  sal  with  her  wliile 
siie  worlicd,  ami  liiing  over  iier,  en- 
traiu'oil,  wliili!  she  suns.  J't'  produced 
the  hook  from  Vizard  Court  without 
warning,  and  she  screamed  with  de- 
light at  sight  of  it,  and  caugiit  his  hand 
in  both  iieis,  and  kissed  it.  She  rev- 
eled in  those  sweet  strains  which  had 
comlbrted  her  in  alllittion  :  and  oh, 
the  eyes  she  turned  on  him  after  sing- 
ing any  song  in  tliis  particular  book ! 
Those  tender  glances  thrilled  him  to 
the  very  marrow. 

To  tell  the  honest  ti'uth,  his  arrival 
was  a  godsend  to  Ina  Klosking.  Wlien 
she  first  came  home  to  her  native 
place,  and  laid  her  head  on  her  moth- 
er's bosom,  she  was  in  Elysium.  The 
house,  the  wood  fires,  the  cooing  doves, 
the  bleating  calves,  the  jMimiiive  life, 
the  recollections  of  childhood — all  were 
balm  to  her,  and  she  felt  like  ending 
her  days  there.  But,  as  the  days  roll- 
ed on,  came  a  sense  of  monotony,  and 
excessive  tran(iuillity.  She  was  on  the 
verge  of  ennui  when  Vizard  broke  in 
upon  her. 

From  that  moment  there  was  no 
stagnation.  He  made  life  very  jileas- 
ant  to  her  ;  only  her  delicacy  took  the 
alarm  at  his  open  declarations ;  she 
thought  them  so  premature. 

At  last  he  said  to  her,  one  day,  "I 
begin  to  fear  you  will  never  love  me 
as  I  love  von." 

"  Who' knows?"  said  she,  "Time 
works  wonders." 

"  I  wonder,"  said  he,  "whether you 
will  ever  marry  any  other  man  ?" 

Ina  was  sliocked  at  tiiat.  "Oh, 
my  friend,  how  could  I — unless,"  said 
siie,  wiih  a  sly  side-glance,  "you  con- 
sented." 

"Consent?     Ed  massacre  him." 

Ina  turned  toward  him.  "You 
asked  my  hand  at  a  time  when  you 
thought  me — I  don't  know  what  you 
thf)ught  —  tlial  is  a  thing  no  woman 
could  forget.  And  now  you  have 
come  all  this  way  for  me.  I  am  yours, 
if  you  can  wait  for  me. " 

He  caught  her  in  his  arms.     She 


disengaged  herself,  gently,  and  her 
hand  rested  an  uimecessary  moment 
on  his  shouUler.  "  Is  that  iiow  you 
understand  'waiting':''"  said  she,  with 
a  blush,  but  an  indulgent  smile. 

"  What  is  the  use  waiting?" 

"  It  is  a  matter  of  propriety." 

"  How  lotig  are  we  to  wait  ?'' 

"Only  a  few  months.  My  friend, 
it  is  like  a  boy  to  be  too  ini))atient. 
Alas !  would  you  marry  me  in  my 
widow's  cap  ?" 

"Of  course  I  would.  Now,  Ina, 
love,  a  widow  who  has  been  two  years 
separated  from  iter  husband  I" 

"  Certainly,  that  makes  a  difference 
— in  one's  own  mind.  Hut  one  must 
respect  the  opinion  of  the  world.  Dear 
friend,  it  is  of  you  1  think,  though  I 
speak  of  myself." 

"You  are  an  angel.  Take  your 
own  time.  After  all,  what  does  it 
matter?  I  don't  leave  Zutzig  with- 
out you." 

Ina's  pink  tint  and  sparkling  eyes 
betrayed  any  thing  but  horror  at  that 
insane  resolution.  However,  she  felt 
I  it  iier  duty  to  say  that  it  was  unfortu- 
nate she  should  always  be  the  person 
to  distract  him  from  bis  home  duties. 

"Oh,  never  mind  them,"  said  this 
single-hearted  lover.  "I  have  ap- 
pointed Miss  Gale  viceroy." 

However,  one  day  he  had  a  letter 
from  Zoe,  telling  him  that  Lord  Ux- 
moor  was  now  mging  her  to  name  the 
day  ;  but  she  had  declined  to  do  that, 
not  knowing  when  it  might  suit  him 
to  be  at  Vizard  Court.  "  But,  dear- 
est," said  she,  "mind,  you  are  not  to 
huriy  home  for  me.  1  am  very  hap- 
py as  I  am,  and  I  hope  you  will  soon 
be  as  happy,  love.  Siie  is  a  noble 
woman." 

The  latter  part  of  this  letter  tempted 
Vizard  to  show  it  to  Ina.  He  soon 
found  his  mistake.  She  kissed  it,  and 
ordered  him  off.  He  remonstrated. 
She  put  on,  for  the  first  time  in  Den- 
mark, her  marble  look,  and  said, 
"You  will  lessen  my  esteem,  if  you 
are  cruel  to  your  sister.  Let  her  name 
the  wedding-day  at  once;  and  you 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


243 


must  be  there  to  give  her  away,  and 
bless  lier  union,  with  a  brother's  love." 

He  submitted,  but  a  little  sullenly, 
and  said  it  was  very  hard. 

He  wrote  to  his  sister,  accordingly, 
and  she  named  the  day,  and  Vizard 
settled  to  start  for  home,  and  be  in 
time. 

As  to  the  proprieties,  he  had  in- 
structed Miss  Maitland  and  Fanny 
Dover,  and  given  them  and  La  Gale 
carte-blanche.  It  was  to  be  a  mag- 
nificent wedding. 

This  being  excitement.  Fanny  Do- 
ver was  in  paradise.  Moreover,  a 
rosy-cheeked  curate  had  taken  the 
place  of  the  venerable  vicar,  and  Miss 
Dover's  threat  to  fiirt  out  the  stigma 
of  a  nun  was  executed  with  prompti- 
tude, zeal,  pertinacity,  and  the  dexter- 
ity that  comes  of  practice.  When  the 
day  came  for  his  leaving  Zutzig,  Viz- 
ard was  dejected.  "Who  knows  when 
we  may  meet  again  ?"  said  he. 

Ina  consoled  him.  "Do  not  be 
sad,  dear  friend.  You  are  doing  your 
duty  ;  and  as  you  do  it  partly  to  please 
me,  I  ought  to  try  and  reward  you ; 
ought  I  not  ?"  And  she  gave  him  a 
strange  look. 

"I  advise  you  not  to  press  that 
question,"  said  he. 

At  the  very  hour  of  parting,  Ina's 
eyes  were  moist  with  tentlerness,  but 
there  was  a  smile  on  her  face  very  ex- 
pressive ;  yet  he  could  not  make  out 
what  it  meant.  She  did  not  cry.  He 
thought  that  hard.  It  was  his  opin- 
ion that  women  could  always  cry.  She 
might  have  done  the  usual  thing  just 
to  gratify  him. 

He  reached  home  in  good  time :  and 
played  the  grand  seigneur  —  nobody 
coidd  do  it  better  when  driven  to  it — 
to  do  honor  to  his  sister.  She  was  a 
peerless  bride :  she  stood  superior  with 
ebon  locks  and  coal-black  eyes,  encir- 
cled by  six  brides-maids — all  picked 
i)londes.  The  bevy,  with  tiiat  glori- 
ous figure  in  the  middle,  seemed  one 
glorious  and  rare  flower. 

After  the  wediling,  the  breakfast; 
and  then  the  traveling-carriage ;   the 


four  liveried  postilions  bedecked  with 
favors. 

But  the  bride  wept  on  Vizard's 
neck  ;  and  a  light  seemed  to  leave  the 
iiouse  when  she  was  gone.  The  car- 
riages kept  driving  away  one  after  an- 
other till  four  o'clock :  and  tiien  Viz- 
ard sat  disconsolate  in  his  study,  and 
felt  very  lonely. 

Yet  a  thing  no  bigger  than  a  leaf 
sufficed  to  drive  away  this  sombre 
mood,  a  piece  of  amber-coloi'ed  ))aper 
scribbled  on  with  a  pencil :  a  telegram 
from  Ashmead :  "Good  news:  lost 
sheep  turned  up.  Is  now  with  her 
mother  at  Claridge's  Hotel." 

Then  Vizard  was  in  raptures.  Now 
he  understood  Ina's  composure,  and 
the  half-sly  look  she  had  given  him, 
and  her  dry  eyes  at  parting,  and  other 
things.  He  tore  up  to  London  diiect. 
1}',  with  a  telegram  flying  ahead:  burst 
in  ujjon  her,  and  liad  her  in  his  arms 
in  a  moment,  before  her  mother:  she 
fenced  no  longer,  but  owned  he  had 
gained  her  love,  as  he  had  deserved  it 
in  every  way. 

Siie  consented  to  be  maiTied  that 
week  in  London :  only  she  asked  for 
a  Continental  toin-  before  entering 
Vizard  Court  as  his  wife ;  but  she 
did  not  stipulate  even  for  that — she 
only  asked  it  submissively,  as  one 
whose  duty  it  now  was  to  obey,  not 
dictate. 

They  were  married  in  St.  George's 
Cburcii  very  quietly,  by  special  license. 
Then  they  saw  her  mother  off,  and 
crossed  to  Calais.  They  spent  two 
happy  months  together  on  the  Conti- 
nent, and  returned  to  London. 

But  Vizard  was  too  old-fashioned, 
and  too  proud  of  his  wife,  to  sneak 
into  Vizard  Court  with  her.  He  did 
not  make  it  a  coimty  matter;  but  he 
gave  the  village  such  a  file  as  had 
not  been  seen  for  many  a  day.  The 
preparations  were  intrusted  to  Mr. 
Ashmead,  at  Ina's  request.  "  He  will 
be  sure  to  make  it  theatrical."  she 
said;  "but  per'iaps  the  simjiie  villa- 
gers will  iidmire  that,  and  it  will  amuse 
you  and  me,  love :  and  the  poor  dear 


244 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


old  Thing  will  be  in  his  glory — I  hope 
lie  will  not  diiiik  too  much." 

Aslimciul  was  indeed  in  his  glovy. 
Nothing  iiud  been  seen  in  a  jilay  lliat 
he  did  not  electrify  Lslip  with,  atid  the 
surrounding  villages.  He  pasted  large 
posters  on  walls  and  barn-doors,  and 
his  small  bills  curled  roinid  the  j)atri- 
archs  of  the  forest  and  the  road-side 
trees,  and  blistered  the  gate-posts. 

The  day  came.  A  soapy-pole,  with 
a  leg  of  mutton  on  high  for  the  success- 
ful climber,  llaces  in  sacks.  Short 
blindfold  races  with  wheelbarrows, 
rig  with  a  greasy  tail,  to  be  won  by 
him  who  could  catch  him  and  shoul- 
der him,  without  touching  any  other 
part  of  him  ;  bowls  of  treacle  for  the 
boys  to  duck  heads  in  and  Hsh  out 
coins  ;  skittles,  nine-pins,  Aunt  Sally, 
etc.,  etc.,  etc. 

But  what  astonished  the  villagers 
most  was  a  May-pole,  with  long  rib- 
bons, about  which  ballet-girls,  undis- 
guised as  Highlanders,  danced,  and 
wound  and  unwound  the  party-color- 
ed streamers,  to  the  merry  fiddle,  and 
then  danced  reels  upon  a  platform, 
then  returned  to  their  little  tent :  but 
out  again  and  danced  hornpipes  un- 
disguised as  Jacky  Tars. 

Beer  flowed  from  a  sturdy  regiment 
of  barrels.  "  The  Court "  kitchen  and 
the  village  bakehouse  kept  pouring 
forth  meats,  baked,  boiled,  and  roast ; 
there  was  a  pile  of  loaves  like  a  hay- 
stack ;  and  they  roasted  an  ox  whole 
on  the  Green ;  and,  when  they  found 
they  were  burning  him  raw,  they 
fetched  the  butcher,  like  sensible  fel- 
lows, and  dismembered  the  giant,  and 
so  roasted  him  reasonably. 

In  the  midst  of  the  reveling  and 
feasting,Vizard  and  Mrs.  Vizard  were 
driven  into  lslip  village  in  the  fam- 
ily coach,  with  four  horses  streaming 
with  ribbons. 

They  drove  round  the  Green,  bow- 
ing and  smiling  in  answer  to  the  ac- 
clamations and  blessings  of  the  poor, 
and  then  to  Vizard  Court.  The  great 
doors  flew  open.  The  servants,  male 
and  female,  lined  the  hall   on  both 


sides,  and  received  her  bowing  and 
courtesying  low,  on  the  very  spot  where 
she  had  nearly  met  her  death ;  her 
husband  took  her  hand  and  conducted 
her  in  state  to  her  own  apartment. 

It  was  open  house  to  all  that  joy- 
ful day,  and  at  night  magnificent  fire- 
works on  the  sweep,  seen  from  the 
drawing-room  by  Mrs.  Vizard,  Miss 
Maitland,  Miss  Gale,  Miss  Dover,  and 
the  rosy -cheeked  curate,  whom  she 
had  tied  to  her  apron-strings. 

At  two  in  the  morning,  Mr.  Harris 
showed  Mr.  Ashmead  to  his  couch. 
Both  gentlemen  went  up  the  stairs  a 
little  graver  than  any  of  our  modern 
judges,  and  firm  as  a  rock  ;  but  their 
firmness  resembled  that  of  a  roof 
rather  than  a  wall ;  for  these  dignities 
as  they  went  made  one  inverted  V — 
so,  A. 

It  is  time  the  "  "Woman-hater"  drew 
to  a  close,  for  the  woman  -  hater  is 
spoiled.  He  begins  sarcastic  speech- 
es, from  force  of  habit,  but  stops  short 
in  the  middle.  He  is  a  very  hnppy 
man,  and  owes  it  to  a  woman,  and 
knows  it.  He  adores  her ;  and  to  love 
well  is  to  be  happy.  But.  besides  that, 
she  w  atches  over  his  ha])piness  and  his 
good  with  that  unobtrusive  but  minute 
vigilance  which  belongs  to  her  sex, 
and  is  often  misapplied,  but  not  so 
very  often  as  cynics  say.  Even  the 
honest  friendship  between  him  and 
the  remarkable  woman  he  calls  his 
"  virago  "  gives  him  many  a  pleasant 
hour.  He  is  still  a  humorist,  tliough 
cured  of  his  fling  at  the  fair  sex.  His 
last  tolerable  hit  was  at  the  monosyl- 
labic names  of  tiie  immortal  composers 
his  wife  had  disinterred  in  his  library. 
Says  he  to  parson  Denison,  hot  from 
O-xford,  "  They  remind  me  of  the  Ox- 
ford poets  in  the  last  century : 

"Alma  novem  celebres  genuit  Rhedyeina 
poetas. 
Bubb,  Stubb,  Gfubb,  Crnbhe,  Trnppe, 
Bronie,  Carey,  Tickell,  Evans." 

As  for  Ina  Vizard,  La  Klosking  no 
longer,  she  has  stepped  into  her  new 
place  with  her  native  dignity,  seemli- 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


245 


ness,  and  composure.  At  first,  a  few 
county  ladies  put  their  little  heads 
together,  and  prepared  to  give  them- 
selves airs  ;  but  the  beauty,  dignity, 
and  enchanting  grace  of  Mrs.  Vizard 
swept  this  little  faction  away  like  small 
dust.  Her  perfect  courtesy,  her  mild 
but  deep  dislike  of  all  feminine  back- 
biting, her  dead  silence  about  the  ab- 
sent, except  wiien  she  can  speak  kind- 
ly—  these  rare  traits  have  foi-ced,  by 
degrees,  the  esteem  and  confidence  of 
her  own  sex.  As  for  the  men,  they 
accepted  her  at  once  with  enthusiasm. 
She  and  Lady  Uxmoor  are  the  ac- 
knowledged belles  of  tiie  county.  Lady 
Uxmoor's  face  is  the  most  admired ; 
but  Mrs.  Vizard  comes  next,  and  her 
satin  shoulders,  statuesque  bust  and 
arms,  and  exquisite  hand,  turn  the 
scale  with  some.  But  when  she  speaks, 
she  charms ;  and  when  siie  sings,  all 
competition  dies. 

She  is  faithful  to  music,  and  espe- 
cially to  sacred  music.  She  is  not  very 
fond  of  singing  at  parties,  and  some- 
times gives  ottense  by  declining.  Mu- 
sic sets  fools  talking,  because  it  ex- 
cites them,  and  then  their  folly  comes 
out  by  the  road  nature  has  provided. 
But  when  Mrs.  Vizard  has  to  sing  in 
one  key,  and  people  talk  in  five  other 
keys,  tiiat  gives  this  artist  such  phys- 
ical pain  that  she  often  declines,  mere- 
ly to  escape  it.  It  does  not  muf'h 
mortify  her  vanity,  she  has  so  little. 

She  always  sings  in  church,  and 
sings  out,  too,  when  she  is  there  ;  and 
plays  the  harmonium.  She  trains  the 
villagers  —  girls,  boys,  and  adults  — 
with  untiring  good  humor  and  pa- 
tience. 

Among  her  pupils  are  two  fine 
voices — Tom  Wilder,  a  grand  bass, 
and  the  rosy-cheeked  curate,  a  great- 
er rarity  still,  a  genuine  coimter-tenor. 

Tliese  two  can  both  read  music  tol- 
erably ;  but  the  curate  used  to  sing 
every  thing,  however  full  of  joy,  with 
a  jjathctic  whine,  for  which  Vizard 
chaffed  him  in  vain  ;  but  Mrs.  Vizard 
persuaded  him  out  of  it,  where  ar- 
gument and  satire  failed. 


People  come  far  and  near  to  hear 
the  hymns  at  Islip  Church,  sung  in 
full  harmony — trebles,  tenors,  counter- 
tenor, and  bass. 

A  trait — she  allows  nothing  to  be 
sung  in  church  unrehearsed.  The 
rehearsals  are  on  Saturday  night,  and 
never  shirked,  such  is  the  respect  for 
"Our  Dame."  To  be  sure,  "Our 
Dame"  fills  the  stomachs  and  wets 
the  whistles  of  her  faithful  choir  on 
Saturday  nights. 

On  Sunday  nights  there  are  per. 
formances  of  sacred  music  in  th& 
great  dining -hall.  But  these  art 
rather  more  ambitious  than  those  li' 
the  village  church.  The  performera 
meet  on  that  happy  footing  of  camara- 
derie the  fine  arts  create,  the  superi- 
or respect  shown  to  Mrs.  Vizard  bein^ 
mainly  paid  to  her  as  the  greater  mu 
sician.  They  attack  anthems  and  serv. 
ices ;  and  a  trio,  by  the  parson,  the 
blacksmith,  and  "  Our  Dame,"  is  re- 
ally an  extraordinary  treat,  owing  to 
the  great  beauty  of  the  voices.  It  is 
also  piquant  to  hear  the  female  singer 
constantly  six,  and  often  ten,  notes  be- 
low the  male  counter-tenor;  but  then 
comes  Wilder  with  his  diapason,  and 
the  harmony  is  noble ;  the  more  so 
that  Mrs.  Vizard  rehearses  her  pupils 
in  the  swell — a  figure  too  little  ])rac- 
ticed  in  music,  and  nowhere  carried 
out  as  she  does  it. 

One  night  the  organist  of  Barford 
was  tliere.  Tiiey  sung  Kent's  service 
in  F,  and  Mrs.  Vizard  still  admired 
it.  She  and  the  parson  swelled  in  the 
duet,  "To  be  a  Light  to  lighten  the 
Gentiles,"  etc.  Organist  approved 
the  execution,  but  said  the  composi- 
tion was  a  meagre  thing,  quite  out  of 
date.  "We  have  much  finer  things 
now  by  learned  men  of  the  day." 
"Ah,"  said  she,  "bring  me  one." 

So,  next  Sunday,  he  iirought  her  a 
learned  composition,  and  i)layed  it  to 
lier,  prelimiiuiry  to  their  singing  it. 
But  she  declined  it  on  the  spot. 
"  What : "  .said  she.  "Mr.  X.,  would 
you  compare  this  meaningless  stiift' 
with  Kent  in  F?     Why,  in  Kent,  the 


2-tG 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


clominnnt  sentiment  of  each  compo- 
sition is  adininilily  ineseived.  His 
'Magnificat'  is  loiiy  jubilation,  \vitli 
a  free,  onward  rush.  His  '  Dimitiis  ' 
is  divine  repose  after  life's  fever. 
But  this  poor  pedant's  '  Magnificat ' 
begins  with  a  mere  crash,  and  then 
falls  into  the  pathetic — an  excellent 
tiling  in  its  place,  but  not  in  a  song 
of  triiim)))!.  As  to  his  'Dimittis,'  it 
siin])ly  defies  the  words.  This  is  no 
Christian  sunset.  It  is  not  good  old 
Simeon  gently  declining  to  his  rest, 
content  to  close  those  eyes  which  had 
seen  the  world's  salvation.  'J'liis  is  a 
tempest,  and  all  the  w  iiuiows  rattling, 
and  the  great  Napoleon  dying,  amidst 
the  fuiT  of  the  elements,  with  '  tcte 
d'armee!'  on  his  dying  lips,  and  'bat- 
tle' in  his  ex|)iring  soul.  No,  sir;  if 
the  learned  Englishmen  of  this  day 
can  do  nothing  nearer  the  mark  than 

I>(>LEFDL    MAGNIFIC.\TS    and    STOKMY 

NUNC  DiMiTTiSKS,  I  shall  Stand  faith- 
ful to  poor  dead  Kent,  and  his  fellows 
— they  were  my  solace  in  sickness  and 
sore  trouble." 

In  accordance  wiili  these  views  of 
vocal  music,  and  desirous  to  expand 
its  sjihere,  Mrs.  Vizard  has  just  offered 
handsome  prizes  in  the  county  for  the 
best  service,  in  which  the  dominant 
sentiment  of  tlie  words  shall  be  as 
well  preserved  as  in  Kent's  des])ised 
service;  and  another  prize  to  wiioev- 
er  can  set  any  famous  short  secular 
poem,  ov  poetical  passage  (not  in  bal- 
lad metre),  to  good  and  ajipi-opiiate 
music. 

This  has  elicited  several  jiieces. 
Tiie  composers  have  tried  their  hands 
on  Dryden's  Ode;  on  tiie  meeting 
of  Hector  and  Andromache  (Pope's 
"Homer");  on  two  short  poems  of 
Tennyson;  etc.,  etc. 

But  it  is  only  the  beginning  of  a 
good  thing.  The  pieces  are  luider 
consideration.  But  Vizard  says  the 
competitors  are  triflers.  He  shall  set 
Mr.  Arnold's  version  of  "Hero  and 
Leander"  to  the  harp,and  sing  it  him- 
self. This,  he  intimates,  will  silence 
competition,  and   prove   an    era.       I 


think  so  too,  if  his  music  should  hap- 
pen to  equal  the  lines  in  value.  But 
1  hardly  think  it  will,  because  the 
said  Vizard,  though  he  lias  taste  and 
ear,  does  not  know  one  note  from  an- 
other. So  I  hope  "Hero  and  Lean- 
der" will  fall  into  abler  hands;  and, 
in  any  case,  I  trust  Mrs.  Vizard  will 
succeed  in  her  worthy  desire  to  en- 
large, very  greatly,  the  sphere  and  the 
nobility  of  vocal  music.  It  is  a  de- 
sire worthy  of  this  remarkable  char- 
acter, of  whom  I  now  take  my  leave 
with  regret. 

I  must  own  that  regret  is  caused  in 
])ait  liy  my  fear  that  I  may  not  have 
done  iier  all  the  justice  I  desired. 

I  have  long  felt  and  regretted  that 
many  able  female  writers  are  doing 
much  to  perpetuate  the  petty  vices  of 
a  sex,  wliicli,  after  all,  is  at  ])resent 
but  half  educated,  by  devoting  three 
thick  volumes  to  such  empty  women 
as  Biogia))hy,  though  a  lower  art 
than  Fiction,  would  not  waste  three 
pages  on.  They  plead  truth  and  fidel- 
ity to  nature.  "  We  write  the  aver- 
age woman,  for  the  average  woman  to 
read, "  say  they.  But  they  are  not  con- 
sistent; for  the  average  woman  is  un- 
der five  feet,  and  rather  ugly.  Now 
these  paltry  women  are  all  beautiful — 
KciKai  Tt  fieyaXai  rf,as  Homer  hath  it. 

Fiction  has  just  as  much  right  to 
select  large  female  souls  as  Biogra- 
phy or  Painting  has ;  and  to  pick  out 
a  selfish,  shallow,  illiterate  creature, 
with  nothing  but  beauty,  and  bestow 
three  enormous  volumes  on  her,  is  to 
make  a  perverse  selection,  beauty  be- 
ing, after  all,  rarer  in  women  than 
wit,  sense,  and  goodness.  Jt  is  as 
false  and  ignoble  in  art,  as  to  marry  a 
ju'etty  face  without  heart  and  brains  is 
silly  in  conduct. 

Besides,  it  gives  the  female  reader 
a  low  model  instead  of  a  high  one, 
and  so  does  her  a  little  harm  ;  where- 
as a  writer  ought  to  do  good — or  try, 
at  all  events. 

Having  all  this  in  my  mind,  and  re- 
membering how  many  .noble  women 
have  shone  like  stars  in  every  age  and 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


247 


every  land,  and  feeling  sure  that,  as 
civilization  advances,  such  women 
will  become  far  more  common,  I  have 
tried  to  look  ahead  and  paint  La  Klos- 
king. 

But  such  portraiture  is  difficult. 
It  is  like  writing  a  statue. 

"Qui   mihi  non  credit  faciat  licet   ipse 
periciiun, 
Mux  fuerit  studiis  aequior  ille  meis." 

Harrington  Vizard,  Esq.,  caught 
i\Iiss  Fanny  Dover  on  the  top  round 
iiut  one  of  tlie  steps  in  iiis  library. 
She  looked  down,  pinkish,  and  said 
she  was  searciiiiig  for  "Tillotsuns 
Sermons." 

"  Wiiat  on  earth  can  vou  want  of 
them  ?■' 

''To  improve  my  mind,  to  be  sure," 
said  the  minx. 

Vizard  said, "Now  you  stay  there, 
miss — don't  you  move;"  and  he  sent 
for  Ina.  Slie  came  directly,  and  he 
said, "Things  have  come  to  a  climax. 
My  lady  is  hunting  for  'Tillotson's 
Sermons.'  Poor  Denison !''  (Tliat 
was  the  rosy  curate's  name.) 

"Well,"  said  Fanny,  turning  red, 
"I  told  you  I  should.  Why  should 
I  be  good  any  longer?  All  tlie  sick 
are  cured  one  way  or  other,  and  1  am 
myself  again." 

'"Humph!"  said  Vizard.  "Un- 
fortunately for  your  little  plans  of 
conduct,  the  heads  of  this  establish- 
ment, here  present,  have  sat  in  secret 
committee,  and  your  wings  are  to  be 
clipped — by  order  of  council." 

"  La!"  said  Fanny,  pertly. 

Vizard  imposed  silence  witli  a  lord- 
ly wave.  "It  is  a  laugiiablc  thing; 
l)ut  this  divine  is  in  earnest.  He  has 
revealed  his  hopes  and  fears  to  me." 

"Then  he  is  a  great  baby,"  said 
Fanny,  coming  down  the  steps.  "  No, 
no;  we  are  both  too  poor."  And  she 
vented  a  little  sigh. 

"Not  you.  The  vicar  has  written 
to  vacate.  Now,  I  don't  like  yon 
much,  because  you  liever  make  me 
laugh  ;  but  I'm  awfully  fond  of  Deni- 
son ;  and,  if  you  will  marry  my  dear 


Denison,  you  shall  have  the  vicarage ; 
it  is  a  fat  one." 

"Oh,  cousin!" 

"And," said  Mrs.  Vizard,  "he  per- 
mits me  to  furnish  it  for  you.  You 
and  I  will  make  it  'a  bijou.'  " 

Fanny  kissed  them  both,  impetu- 
ously :  then  said  she  would  have  a 
little  cry.  No  sooner  said  than  done. 
l\\  due  course  she  was  Mrs.  Denison, 
and  broke  a  solemn  vow  tliat  she  nev- 
er would  teach  girls  .St.  Matthew. 

Like  coquettes  in  general,  who  have 
had  their  fling  at  the  proper  time,  she 
makes  a  pretty  good  wife;  but  she 
has  one  fault  —  she  is  too  hard  upon 
girls  who  flirt. 

Mr.  Ashmead  flourishes.  Besides 
his  agency,  he  sometimes  treats  for  a 
new  piece,  collects  a  little  company, 
and  tours  the  provincial  theatres.  He 
always  plays  them  a  week  at  Tadding- 
ton,  and  with  perfect  gravity  loses  six 
])ounds  per  night.  Then  he  has  a 
"bespeak."  Vizard  or  Uxmoor  turn 
about.  There  is  a  line  of  carriages  ; 
the  snobs  crowd  in  to  see  the  gentry. 
Vizard  pays  twenty  pounds  for  his 
box,  and  takes  twenty  pounds'  worth 
of  tickets,  and  Jose[)h  is  in  his  glory, 
and  stays  behind  the  company  to  go 
to  Islip  Church  next  day,  and  spend 
a  happy  night  at  the  Court.  After 
that  he  says  he  feels  good  for  three 
or  four  days. 

Mrs.  Gale  now  leases  the  Hillstoke 
farm  of  Vizard,  and  does  jiretty  well. 
She  breeds  a  great  many  sheep  and 
cattle.  The  high  ground  and  shelter- 
ing woods  suit  them.  Slie  makes  a 
little  money  every  year,  and  gets  a 
very  good  house  for  nothing. 

Doctress  Gale  is  still  all  eyes,  and 
notices  every  thing.  She  studies  liard, 
and  practices  a  little.  They  tried  to 
keep  her  out  of  the  Taddington  in- 
firmary ;  but  she  went,  almost  cry- 
ing, to  Vizard,  and  he  exi)loded  with 
wrath.  He  consulted  Lord  Uxmoor, 
and  between  them  tlie  infirmary  was 
threatened  with  the  withdrawal  of 
eighty  annual  subscriptions  if  they 
1  persisted.     The  managers  caved  di- 


M8 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


rectly,  and  Doctress  Gale  is  a  steady 
visitor. 

A  few  mothers  are  coming  to  their 
senses,  and  sending  for  her  to  their 
unmarried  daujjluers.  This  is  tiie 
main  source  of  lier  ])rofessional  in- 
come. Slie  has,  however,  taken  one 
enormous  fee  from  a  hon  vivanf,  whose 
life  she  saved  by  esculents.  She  told 
him  at  once  he  was  beyond  the  reach 
of  medicine,  and  she  conld  do  noth- 
ing for  him  unless  he  chose  to  live  in 
her  house,  and  eat  and  driid<  only 
what  she  shoidd  give  liim.  He  had  a 
horror  of  dying,  tlioiigh  he  had  lived 
so  well ;  so  he  submitted,  and  slie  did 
actually  cure  that  one  glutton.  But 
she  says  she  will  never  do  it  again. 
"After  forty  years  of  made  dishes 
they  ought  to  he  content  to  die  ;  it 
is  bare  justice,"  quoth  Rhoda  Gale, 
M.l). 

An  apothecary  in  Barford  threat- 
ened to  indict  this  Gallic  physician. 
But  the  other  medical  men  dissuaded 
him,  partly  fiom  lilierality,  partly  from 
discretion  :  the  fine  would  have  been 
paid  by  public  subscription  twenty 
times  over,  and  nothing  gained  but 
obloquy.  The  doctress  would  never 
have  yielded. 

She  visits,  and  prescribes,  and  laughs 
at  the  law,  as  love  is  said  to  laugh  at 
lock-smiths. 

To  be  sure,  in  this  country,  a  law 
is  no  law,  when  it  has  no  fotmdation 
in  justice,  morality,  or  public  policy. 

Happy  in  her  position,  and  in  her 
friends,  site  now  reviews  past  events 
with  the  candor  of  a  mind  that  loves 
truth  sincerely.  She  went  into  Viz- 
ard's study  one  day,  folded  her  arms, 
and  delivered  herself  as  follows:  "I 
guess  there's  something  I  ought  to  say 
to  t/ou.  Wiien  I  told  you  about  our 
treatment  at  lulinbnrgh,  the  wound 
still  bled,  and  I  did  not  measure  my 
words  as  I  ought,  professing  science. 
Now  I  feel  a  call  to  say  that  the  Ed- 
inburgh school  was,  after  all,  more 
liberal  to  us  than  any  other  in  Great 
Britain  or  Ireland.  The  others  closed 
the  door  in  our  faces.     This  school 


opened  it  half.  At  first  there  was  a 
liberal  spirit;  but  the  friends  of  jus- 
tice got  frightened,  and  tlie  unionists 
stronger.  We  were  overpoweied  at 
every  turn.  But  what  I  omitted  to 
impress  on  you  is,  that  when  we  were 
defeated,  it  was  always  by  very  small 
majorities.  That  was  so  even  with 
the  ojjinions  of  the  judges,  which  have 
been  delivered  since  I  told  you  my 
tale.  There  were  six  jurists,  and  only 
seven  pettifoggers.  It  was  so  all 
through.  Now,  for  practical  piu'- 
poses,  the  act  of  a  majority  is  the  act 
of  a  body.  It  must  he  so.  It  is  the 
way  of  the  world  :  but  when  an  accu- 
rate person  comes  to  describe  a  busi- 
ness, and  deal  with  the  character  of 
a  wiiole  university,  she  is  not  to  call 
the  larger  half  the  whole,  and  make 
the  matter  worse  ti)an  it  was.  That 
is  not  scientific.  Science  discrimi- 
nates." 

I  am  not  soitj  the  doctress  offered 
this  little  explanation  ;  it  accords  with 
her  sober  mind,  and  her  veneration 
of  truth.  But  I  could  have  dispensed 
with  it  for  one.  In  Britain,  when  we 
are  hint,  we  howl ;  and  the  deuce  is 
in  it  if  the  weak  may  not  howl  when 
the  strong  overpower  them  by  the  arts 
of  the  weak. 

Should  that  part  of  my  tale  rouse  any 
Iionest  sympathy  with  this  iMiglish- 
woman  who  can  legally  prescribe,  con- 
sult, and  take  fees,  in  France,  but  not 
in  England,  though  she  could  'eclipse 
at  a  ))ublic  examination  nine -tenths 
of  those  who  can,  it  may  be  as  well 
to  inform  them  that,  even  while  her 
narrative  was  in  the  press,  our  Gov- 
ernment declared  it  would  do  some- 
thing for  the  relief  of  medical  women, 
but  would  sleep  upon  it. 

This  is,  on  tlie  whole,  encouraging. 
But  still,  where  there  is  no  stimulus 
of  faction  or  personal  interest  to  urge 
a  measure,  but  only  such  "  unconsid- 
ered tiifles  "  as  public  justice  and  pub- 
lic policy,  there  are  always  two  great 
dangers  :  1.  That  the  sleep  may  know 
j  no  waking  ;  2.  That  after  too  long  a 
I  sleep  the  British  legislator  may  jump 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


249 


out  of  bed  all  in  a  hurry,  and  do  the 
work  ineffectually ;  for  nothing  leads 
oftener  to  reckless  haste  than  long 
delay. 

I  hope,  then,  that  a  few  of  my  in- 
fluential readers  will  be  vigilant,  and 
challenge  a  full  discussion  by  the 
whole  mind  of  Parliament,  so  that  no 
temporary,  pettifogging  half-measure 
may  slip  into  a  thin  house  —  like  a 
weasel  into  an  empty  barn  —  and  so 
obstruct  for  many  years  legislation 
upon  durable  principle.  The  thing 
lies  in  a  nutsliell.  The  Legislature 
has  been  entrapped.  It  never  intend- 
ed to  outlaw  women  in  the  matter. 
The  persons  who  have  outlawed  them 
are  all  subjects,  and  the  engines  of 
outlawry  have  been  "certificates  of 
attendance  on  lectures,"  and  "public 
examinations."  By  closing  the  lect- 
ure-room and  t'le  examination -hall 
to  all  women — learned  or  UTilearned — 
a  clique  has  outlawed  a  population, 
under  the  letter,  not  the  spirit,  of  a 
badly  written  statute.  But  it  is  for 
the  tiiree  estates  of  the  British  realm 
to  leave  off  scribbling  statutes,  and 
learn  to  write  tliem,  and  to  bridle  the 
egotism  of  cliques,  and  respect  tlie  na- 
tion. The  present  form  of  govern- 
ment exists  on  that  understanding, 
and  so  must  all  forms  of  government 
in  England.  And  it  is  so  easy.  It 
only  wants  a  little  singleness  of  mind 
and  common  sense.  Years  ago  certif- 
icates of  attendance  on  various  lectures 
were  reasonably  demanded.  They 
were  a  slight  presumptive  evidence  of 
proficiency,  and  had  a  supplementa- 
ry value,  because  the  pul)lic  examina- 
tions were  so  loose  and  inadequate; 
but  once  establish  a  stiff,  searching, 
sufficient,  incorruptible,  public  exam- 
ination, and  then  to  have  passed  that 
examination  is  not  presumptive,  but 
demonstrative,  proof  of  proficiency, 
and  swallows  up  all  minor  and  mere- 
ly presumptive  proofs. 

There  is  nothing  much  stupider 
than  anachronism.  What  avail  cer- 
tificates of  lectures  in  our  day  ?  either 
the  knowledge  obtained  at  the  lectures 


enables  the  pupil  to  pass  the  great  ex- 
amination, or  it  does  not.  If  it  does, 
the  certificate  is  superfluous ;  if  it 
does  not,  the  certificate  is  illusory. 

What  the  British  legislator,  if  for 
once  he  would  rise  to  be  a  lawgiver, 
should  do,  and  that  quickly,  is  to 
throw  open  the  medical  schools  to  all 
persons  for  matriculation.  To  throw- 
open  all  hospitals  and  infirmaries  to 
matriculated  students,  without  respect 
of  sex,  as  they  are  already  open,  by 
shameless  partiality  and  .transparent 
greed,  to  unmatriculated  women,  pro- 
vided they  confine  their  amintion  to 
the  most  repulsive  and  unfeminine 
part  of  medicine,  the  nursing  of  both 
sexes,  and  laying-out  of  corpses. 

Both  the  above  rights,  as  independ- 
ent of  sex  as  other  natural  rights, 
should  be  expressly  protected  by 
"mandamus,"  and  "suit  for  dam- 
ages." The  lecturers  to  be  compelled 
to  lecture  to  mixed  classes,  or  to  give 
separate  lectures  to  matriculated  wom- 
en for  half  fees,  whichever  those  lect- 
urers prefer.  Before  this  clause  all 
difficulties  would  melt,  like  hail  in 
the  dog-days.  Male  modesty  is  a 
purely  imaginary  article,  set  up  for  a 
trade  purpose,  and  will  give  way  to 
justice  the  moment  it  costs  the  pro- 
prietors fifty  per  cent.  I  know  my 
own  sex  from  hair  to  heel,  and  will 
take  my  Bible  oath  of  that. 

Of  the  foreign  matriculated  student, 
British  or  European,  nothing  should 
be  demanded  but  the  one  thing, 
which  matters  one  straw — viz.,  infal- 
lible proofs  of  proficiency  in  anatomy, 
surgery,  medicine,  and  its  collaterals, 
under  public  examination.  This, 
which  is  the  only  real  safeguard,  and 
the  only  necessary  safeguard  to  the 
public,  and  the  only  one  the  public 
asks,  should  be  placed,  in  some  degree, 
under  the  sure  control  of  Government 
without  respect  of  cities ;  and  much 
greater  vigilance  exercised  than  ever 
has  been  yet.  Why,  under  the  system 
which  excludes  learned  women,  male 
dunces  have  been  personated  by  able 
students,  and  so  diplomas  stolen  again 


250 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


and  again.  The  student,  male  or  fe- 
male, siioiikl  have  power  to  compel 
tlie  examiners,  hy  mandamus  and  oili- 
er stringent  remedies,  to  examine  at 
fit  times  and  seasons.  In  all  the/ja- 
per-work  of  these  examinations,  the 
name,  and  of  course  the  sex,  of  the 
student  should  be  concealed  from  the 
examiners.  There  is  a  very  simple 
way  of  doing  it. 

iShould  a  law  be  passed  on  this 
broad  and  simple  basis,  tliat  law  will 
stand  immortal,  with  pettifogging  acts 
falling  ail  around,  according  to  tiie 
custom  of  the  coimtiy.  The  larger 
half  of  the  population  will  no  longer 
be  unconstitutionally  juggled,  under 
cover  of  law,  out  of  their  right  to  take 
tiieir  secret  ailments  to  a  skilled  phy- 
sician of  their  own  sex,  and  compelled 
to  go,  blushing,  writhing,  and,  after 
all,  concealing  and  fibbing,  to  a  male 
physician ;  the  ]jicked  few  no  longer 
robbed  of  their  right  to  science,  repu- 
tation, and  Bread. 

The  good  efl'ect  on  the  whole  mind 
of  woman  would  be  incalculable. 
Great  prizes  of  study  and  genius  ofler- 
ed  to  the  able  few  have  always  a  sal- 
utary and  wonderful  operation  on  the 
many  wlio  never  gain  them  ;  it  would 
be  great  and  glad-tidings  to  our  whole 
female  youth  to  say,  "  You  need  not 
be  frivolous  idlers  ;  you  need  not  give 
tlie  colts  fifty  yards'  start  for  the  Der- 
by—  I  mean,  you  need  not  waste 
three  hours  of  the  short  working-day 
in  dressing  and  undressing,  and  comb- 
ing your  hair.  You  need  not  throw 
away  the  very  seed-time  of  life  on  mu- 
sic, thongli  you  are  unmusical  to  tlie 
backbone;  nor  yet  on  your  three 
"  C's  " — crocpiet.  crochet,  and  cocpiet- 
ry :  for  Civilization  and  sound  Law 
have  opened  to  you  one  great,  noble, 
and  difficult  profession  with  three 
branches,  two  of  which  Nature  intend- 
ed you  for.  The  path  is  arduous,  but 
flowers  grow  beside  it,  and  the  prize 
is  great." 

1  say  that  this  prize,  and  frequent 
intercourse  witii  those  superior  women 
who  have  won  it,  would  leaven  the 


whole  sex  with  higlier  views  of  life 
than  enter  their  heads  at  present; 
would  raise  their  self-respect,  and  set 
thousands  of  them  to  study  the  great 
and  noble  things  that  are  in  medicine, 
and  connected  with  it,  instead  of  child- 
ish things. 

Is  tiiere  leally  one  manly  heart  that 
would  gruilge  this  boon  to  a  sex 
which  is  the  nurse  and  benefactress 
of  every  man  in  ids  tender  and  most 
precarious  years  'i 

Realize  the  hard  condition  of  wom- 
en. Among  barbarians  their  lot  is 
unmixed  misery;  with  us  their  con- 
dition is  better,  but  not  what  it  ouglit 
to  be,  because  we  are  but  lialf  civil- 
ized, and  so  their  lot  is  still  very  un- 
hajipy  compared  with  ours. 

And  we  are  so  unreasonable.  We 
men  can  not  go  straight  ten  yards 
without  rewards  as  well  as  punish- 
ments. Yet  we  could  govern  our 
women  by  punishments  alone.  They 
are  eternally  temjHed  to  folly,  yet 
snubbed  the  moment  they  would  be 
wise.  A  million  shops  sjiread  their 
nets,  and  entice  them  by  their  direst 
foible.  Tlieir  very  mothers  —  for 
want  of  medical  knowledge  in  the  sex 

—  clasp  the  fatal,  idiotic  corset  on 
their  growing  bodies,  though  thin  as 
a  lath.  So  the  girl  grows  up,  crippled 
in  the  ribs  and  lungs  by  her  own 
mother ;  and  her  life,  too,  is  in  stays 

—  cabined,  cribbed,  confined:  unless 
she  can  paint,  or  act,  or  write  novels, 
every  path  of  honorable  ambition  is 
closed  to  her.  We  treat  her  as  we 
do  our  private  soldiers — the  lash,  but 
no  promotion ;  and  our  private  sol- 
diers are  the  scum  of  Europe  for  that 
very  reason,  and  no  other. 

I  say  that  to  open  the  study  and 
practice  of  medicine  to  women-folk, 
under  the  infallible  safeguard  of  a  stiff" 
public  examination,  will  be  to  rise  in 
respect  for  human  rights  to  the  level 
of  iMiropean  nations,  who  do  not  brag 
abcjut  just  freedom  half  as  loud  as  we 
do,  and  to  respect  the  constitutional 
rights  of  many  million  citizens,  who 
all  pay  the  taxes  like  men,  and,  by  the 


A  WOMAN-HATER. 


251 


contract  with  the  State  implied  in  that 
payment,  buy  the  clear  human  right 
they  have  yet  to  go  down  on  their 
knees  for.  But  it  will  also  import  into 
medical  science  a  new  and  less  theo- 
retical, but  cautious,  teachable,  ob- 
servant kind  of  intellect;  it  will  give 
the  larger  half  of  the  nation  an  hon- 
orable ambition,  and  an  honorable 
pursuit,  toward  which  their  hearts  and 


instincts  are  bent  by  Nature  herself; 
it  will  tend  to  elevate  this  whole  sex, 
and  its  young  children,  male  as  well 
as  female,  and  so  will  advance  the 
civilization  of  the  world,  which  in 
ages  past,  in  our  own  day,  and  in  all 
time,  hath,  and  doth,  and  will,  keep 
step  exactly  with  the  progi-ess  of 
women  toward  mental  equality  with 
men. 


THE    END. 


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of  the  Gorilla,  the  Crocf)dile,  Leopard,  Klepliant,  IIii)popotamns,  and  other 
Animals.     By  Paul  B.  Dn  Chaillu.     Illustrated.     Svo,  Cloth,  $5  00. 

DU  CIIAILLU'S  ASHANGO  LAND.  A  Journey  to  Ashango  Land:  and  Further 
Penetration  into  Equatorial  Africa.  By  Paci.  B.  Du  Cuaillu.  Illustrated. 
Svo,  Cloth,  $5  00. 

FLAMMARION'S  ATMOSPHERE.  The  Atmosphere.  Translated  from  the 
French  of  Camii.i.f.  Fi.ammauion.  Edited  by  Jamf.r  Gi.aisuer,  F.R.S.,  Su- 
perintendent of  the  Magiietical  and  Meteorological  Department  of  the  Royal 
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FIRST  CENTURY  OP  THE  REPUBLIC.  A  Review  of  American  Progress, 
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Contents. 

Introduction  :  I.  Colonial  Progress.    By  Eugene  Lawkenoe. — II.  Mechanical 

Progress.     By  Edward  H.  Kniout III.  Progress  in  Manufacture.     By 

the  Hon.  David  A.  Wells. — IV.  Agricultural  Progress.  By  Professor 
Wm.  H  Buewee. — V.  The  Development  of  our  Mineral  Resources.  By 
Professor  T.  Steehv  Hunt. — VI.  Commercial  Development.  By  Euwaud 
Atkinson. — VII.  Growth  and  Distribution  of  Populatiou.  By  the  Hon. 
Franois  A.  Walker. — VIII.  Monetary  Development.  By  Professor  Wil- 
liam G.  Su.mnee.— IX.  The  Experiment  of  the  Union,  with  its  Prepara- 
tions. By  T.  D.  WooLSEv,  D.D.,  LL.D.— X.  Educational  Progress.  By 
Eugene  Laweenoe.— XI.  Scienlitic  Progress:  1.  The  Exact  Sciences.  By 
F.  A.  P.  Baenaed,  D.D.,  LL.D.  2.  Natural  Science.  By  Professor  Theo- 
DOEE  Gill.  —  XII.  A  Century  of  American  Literature.  By  Edwin  P. 
Whipple. —XIII.  Progress  of  the  Pine  Arts.  By  S.  S.  Conant.  —  XIV. 
Medical  and  Sanitary  Progress.  By  Austin  Flint,  M.D. — XV.  American 
Jurisprudence.  By  Bkn.jamin  Vaugiian  Ahuott. — XVI.  Humanitarian 
Progi-ess.  By  Chaeles  L.  Beaoe. — XVII.  Religious  Development.  By 
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i^ORSTER'S  LIFE  OF  DEAN  SWIFT.  The  Early  Life  of  Jonathan  Swift  (1C67- 
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GIBBON'S  ROME.  The  History  of  the  Decline  and  Fall  of  the  Roman  Empire. 
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GREEN'S  SHORT  HISTORY  OF  THE  ENGLISH  PEOPLE.  A  Short  History 
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Modern  History,  Oxford.    With  Tables  and  Colored  Maps.    8vo,  Cloth,  fl  73. 

GROTE'S  HISTORY  OF  GREECE.    12  vols.,  12mo,  Cloth,  $18  00. 

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By  Charlton  T.  Lewis.    Illustrated.    Crown  Svo,  Cloth,  $2  50. 

LIVINGSTONE'S  SOUTH  AFRICA.  Missionary  Travels  and  Researches  in 
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Coast;  thence  across  the  Continent,  down  the  River  Zambesi,  to  the  Eastcri; 
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LIVINGSTONE'S  LAST  JOURNALS.  The  Last  Journals  of  David  Living- 
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